


i know your devils and your deeds (be prepared to bleed)

by devviepuu



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Captain Cobra - Freeform, Captain Cobra Swan, Episode Related, F/M, Feelings Realization, Fluff and Angst, Heroes & Villains, Hurt/Comfort, Season/Series 04, but off-screen, they hook up too, they talk about stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-07-12 00:51:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15984086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devviepuu/pseuds/devviepuu
Summary: There was too much they had to say to each other, but that would come later.BecauseI want youandI need youandI think I might love youwere starting to bump up againstwhat the fuck just even happenedandyou promised me you wouldn’t dieandwhy didn’t you tell meandhow did I not noticein a way that was tensing up her shoulders and sending her stomach into some kind of gymnastics routine.Here's what she knew:  she didn’t want Killian’s rings on a chain around her neck the same way she had Graham’s shoelaces around her wrist, another silent reminder of what could have been in tribute to someone she had lost.She just needed a minute -- or thirty, or an hour, or something -- to think.And a drink.  A drink would definitely help.(post 4x12 and the six weeks of peace)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i'm only a few years too late to this party, right? can't help it, season four totally grew on me, and i haven't been able to get this out of my head.

There was too much they had to say to each other, but that would come later.  Right now, there was Killian’s heart pulsing in his hand as Belle and Gold disappeared, presumably for the town line.  Emma suddenly felt herself able to move again and raced up the stairs, her mother forgotten, her focus solely on the beating organ in her ... friend-partner-boyfriend-pirate’s hand - speaking of things they needed to say to each other - and took it from him without thinking.  Which, okay, now his heart - his actual heart - was in _her_ hands, and Emma found herself mesmerized by the bright red swirling around, so much brighter and stronger than the blackness he’d always seemed to think had taken over and darkened his soul; but the light was strong, maybe _stronger_ because he wanted to try and he wanted to be better and now all Emma could think about was how she hadn’t been wrong about him, back on that beanstalk.

Safe.  They needed to get somewhere _safe_.  The earth seemed to shift, and they weren’t in the clock tower any more but in the back hallway at Granny’s, the poof of energy still dissipating.  Emma swayed on her feet and almost threw up and definitely swore she was never doing _that_ again, but at least Granny’s seemed brighter and safer than the tower.  If nothing else, it had a solid floor. She took a deep breath to steady herself, to steady the heart still beating softly in her hands, with its swirls of light and dark, and Killian noticed.

And smirked.

Even though this was, in its way, confirmation that it was over, that he was still Killian, that he was out of Gold’s control, that even though his heart was still beating outside of his body and the light wasn’t fully back in his eyes yet, he was himself again, Emma couldn’t take that.  It was one thing too far after all of the shit she had been through tonight and okay, so, maybe she pushed a little harder than she needed to when she, well, really, she just _shoved_ the thing back into his chest, ignoring his suggestion to “just be gentle”.

“Oooof,” Killian exhaled under his breath, and grimaced, and Emma was sorry but not that sorry.

She apologized anyway - it seemed the honorable thing to do - and he kissed her.  Emma could taste some of those things they needed to talk about spilling over into the kiss, washing away the bitter tang of _goodbye_ that still lingered and replacing it with _I want you_ and _I need you_ and _I think I might love you_.  It was an attack, an affirmation, a plea, and the earth shifted again or maybe it was just her fucking life finally falling back into place after the Spell of Shattered Sight --

(After he traded his ship.   _For her_ \--)

(After Zelena’s curse and _come back to me--_ )

(After New York and _I came back to save you--_ )

(After Neverland and _a one-time thing_ and _when I win your heart, Emma--_ )

(After the cut on her hand and his _stupid_ scarf still in her drawer at the station--)

“I told you, Swan,” he said, stopping her from following as he broke away from her.  “I’m a survivor.”

_She hadn’t been wrong about him_.

Killian’s thumb traced her bottom lip, his eyes open and assessing.  Soft. So fucking blue. It was more obvious than ever that something had been wrong - missing - in his eyes all of this time.  Emma’s hand was on his chest, feeling the heart beating beneath her splayed fingertips as she stood still, not ready for the moment to end but not ready for all of those things they needed to say to each other.  Because _I want you_ and _I need you_ and _I think I might love you_ were starting to bump up against _what the fuck just even happened_ and _you promised me you wouldn’t die_ and _why didn’t you tell me_ and _how did I not notice_ in a way that was tensing up her shoulders and sending her stomach into some kind of gymnastics routine.

Emma could see the instant Killian read that in her expression.  Open book.

“I find, love,” he said, his voice soft, “that I should like to make use of the bathing facilities in my quarters.”  The words were quiet, stripped of all innuendo. It was not an invitation, and it wasn’t a lie, though it wasn’t the truth, either, his voice sounding suddenly a bit bare and broken in the still-empty hallway.

He _knew_ her, he was giving her an out, because she did want to leave.

But also, she didn’t, and Emma just needed a minute -- or thirty, or an hour, or _something_ \-- to think.  Because she could leave, right now, and he would let her, looking at her so hard it took her breath away.

“I do want to check in on Regina,” Emma said.  Not a lie, but not the truth.

“Aye.”

But Emma didn’t move.  The rhythm of his heartbeat was soothing, or maybe she just needed to remind herself it was there. She was coming down from the adrenaline rush, from the running and the _poof_ ing and the putting-his-heat-back-where-it-belonged and she was definitely on the verge of saying things she maybe --

“Don’t do that again,” she whispered into his jacket, her forehead resting on his shoulder.

\-- shouldn’t say.  Emma shook her head, trying to shake off the anger that was starting to replace the happiness, the fear that was rushing in behind the anger.  The words were tangled in her throat but she couldn’t stop herself. “You can’t do that, not when I finally decided to believe you when you said you wouldn’t--”

Killian ran a finger under her chin, pushing her head up.  He kissed her softly, a simple brush of his lips, and when she looked up into his eyes she saw a thousand things there:  desire, longing, sorrow, disappointment, guilt. Understanding.

Love.

Emma blinked and there it was, the part of her that wanted to leave.  Because she couldn’t look at him when he was like that and pretend that she didn’t love him - because she didn’t, she couldn’t love him, they had only known each other a few months, give or take a year and a curse and _he gave up his ship for her_ and if she kept saying it to herself, she might actually believe it.   _Not now_ , she thought, and when she opened her eyes again, his expression had changed, once again assessing her.  Still being patient, still respecting her, and it was crazy that he was so near to her right now but still on the other side of the walls she’d put up.  It was even crazier that maybe she was ready to give more, to voluntarily lower what he has been patiently tearing down, brick by brick.

Killian smiled, and it was a little insecure (“ _Can you blame me for being uncertain?”_ ) and she leaned forward, meeting him halfway, smiling into his lips when what started off gentle ended with her hips pulled snug against his.

Again, Killian pulled them apart, though his breathing was heavier this time and his expression still uncharacteristically uncertain and -- oh, god, Emma realized, she might be the Savior but could she _be_ any more self-centered?

Because Killian’s heart _had been ripped from his body_ and maybe she wasn’t the only one who needed a few minutes to deal with that before they considered saying some of those things that needed saying.

“Okay, so,” Emma said, and even to her own ears her voice sounded strained, “you’re going to go have a shower, and I’m going to check on Regina.”  Even better, Emma had last seen Regina sitting at the bar in the diner, so, shots.

His hand moved across her shoulders and down her arm.  “Emma, love,” he said lifting her hand and kissing her wrist, looking at her through his eyelashes, “it will be all right,” he said, and she felt reassured and wanted and somehow less overwhelmed, but no less loved.

She nodded and took a step away, back toward the diner and the bar and the friend she needed to check on and the alcohol that was quickly becoming a necessity.  She gave a silly little wave and felt a stupid rush of happiness when he gave her a small salute in return, just two fingers above his eyebrow.

_It’s going to be all right_ , she repeated to herself, which was when she realized that she wasn’t sure which of them he had been trying to comfort.

 

\--

 

“Operation Mongoose,” she repeated, smiling at Henry and wondering how he had turned out to be so amazing - so amazing that she was willing to forgive his interruption and the fact that it kept her shot count to one.  “I like it. Count me in.”

And Henry just lit up in absolute delight, overflowing with the conviction that they would find the Sorcerer and and fix everything while Emma just kept touching her lips as if she could taste the difference between when Gold had held Killian’s heart and when she had given it back to him.

The problem was, she could, and she had felt it then, too.  It was like - god, she had just been so caught up in her own shit, the Snow Queen in her head - she had hurt her _kid_ , for fuck’s sake - and what was Captain Hook going to do about fixing her magic?

_He would have accepted it_ , said a traitorous voice in her head.   _Like he always has_.  And, okay, maybe in a weird way what had happened - with Elsa, at least - was for the best, but the simple truth was that Killian would have understood, and had probably spent two straight days looking for her.  

Because Killian Jones would follow her to the end of the world, or time, even when she asked him not to.  

Shit, that had probably been how Gold had gotten his hands on Killian’s heart in the first place.

“Emma,” Regina’s voice pierced through the cloud of guilt and anger taking over her brain.

And after, with the ribbon and the spell and the impending doom of it all, she had been worried about him but no more or less worried than she was about everyone she had ever cared about, basically, all trapped in the path of the magic, but there was that kiss again.

The one that had felt so wrong.

Why hadn’t he told her?

“Emma,” Regina repeated, and Henry was kind of, like, poking her in the shoulder?

“Yeah,” Emma said, snapping back to attention.  “Sorcerer, Operation Mongoose, got it.”

“Emma,” Regina said for the third time.  “Henry is going to stay with me tonight.”  She said it with particular emphasis on each word, and Emma knew she was missing something important and living up to Regina’s lowest expectations all in one blow.

“Oh, sure, that’s fine,” Emma said.  “Have fun, kid.”

“Henry is going to stay with me tonight,” Regina said again, “so you can go check on the pirate,” and Emma wasn’t sure if the queen was annoyed or amused or both (it was so often legitimately hard to tell).  “Tall, dark and brooding? Back at Granny’s?”

“What?  No,” Emma insisted.  “Shots, remember? And Operation Mongoose.”

“I don’t do rum,” Regina smirked, “and I’m fine.  Go, all right? I’m happy for you. For both of you.”

Emma cocked her head.  “Are you really?”

“No,” Regina admitted.  “But I want to be. For my friend.”  

“Mom,” Henry said, smiling at both of them, “Tell Hook I’m glad he’s okay?  And I’m sorry about the marbles.”

“Sure,” Emma laughed, leaning down to give him a hug.  “I’ll see both of you tomorrow and you can, like, brief me or whatever.”

“I’ll be back in my office tomorrow,” Regina said, and it was a peace offering of sorts.  Like they were really going to do this together.

“I’ll bring lunch for us,” Emma promised her before turning back to her kid, “and doughnuts for us, okay?”

“Chocolate frosted?” Henry asked hopefully.

“Whatever you want, kid.  I love you.”

 

\--

 

In the end, Killian decided against bathing, or at least to postpone it.  There had been something in Emma’s eyes, something that said “be patient” - or maybe “later” - flickering through the myriad other emotions chasing themselves across her face, and it would be bad form to be in a state of partial undress when the lady Swan deposited herself at his doorstep.  When, not if.

There was, as ever, too much left unsaid between them, but Killian had seen it:  the exact moment when Emma’s pleasure at his continued survival ran aground against the fear, and all hope of rational conversation extinguished.  She was so like him in that regard, as like to get furious in order to stave off the fright, and he took comfort only in the fact that he believed her when she said she was finished running, even if that meant being the outlet for her frustrations.  She would, at least, confront him before pulling his heart out all over again, after she understood what had happened. What he had done.

(It might be worth it, he thought, to see it in her hands again, like it belonged there, where it had been at least since she’d left him on that beanstalk, or, more likely, since the instant she had pulled a knife on him and tried to feed him to the ogres.)

When, not if, she showed up, Killian would be properly attired and prepared to face her, and the heated water of this realm’s shower-baths made it damnably easy for a man to wallow alone in his thoughts, anyway, which left Killian hovering with some anxiety on the sidewalk in front of the pawn shop.  The crocodile was gone, and good riddance, but Belle had chosen to save him even when she had no reason to wish him well. He would never be able to repay that kindness, particularly when he had done nothing to deserve it. Quite the opposite, in fact, but Killian Jones was a man of honor, with debts to repay, and he knocked on the door of the shop with grim determination.

He heard the footsteps as she approached the door, heard her deep breath and the turn of the doorknob.  “Killian,” Belle said softly, but pleasantly, for all the world as if she had been expecting him, as if this was an ordinary day and he was there to take tea and not find some way to apologize or explain or make amends for centuries of depravity and the violence he had twice inflicted upon her person.

But there was, in fact, tea when she invited him in, gesturing for him to sit with perfect aplomb and her acceptance when he waved his flask at her in invitation being the first indication that the night’s events were impacting her still.  He poured a dram into her teacup and rather more into his own, lifting the vessel in a silent toast. They drank in companionable silence for several moments, and in the soft light of the shop Killian took in what he had not seen before: the streaks across her face from crying; the redness in her eyes; her hair, unbound.

“How long have you known?” she asked.

Killian winced, even though it wasn’t an accusation.  “I had my suspicions for some time before…” His fingers twitched, rubbing the metal on his index finger.  “Well.”

“Your hand,” was all she said.

“Aye,” he confirmed, putting the cup down.  “How long had you known?” He asked her, knowing he had no right to an answer.

“I had my suspicions,” Belle said softly, turning her eyes away from him for the first time.

“Why did you save me?”  The words came out harsher than he intended them to, but Belle did not flinch.

“I couldn’t let him kill anyone,” she said.  “And you didn’t deserve to die.”

It was Killian’s turn to look away, and he took another sip of his tea.  It was a variety he had not known was available in this realm, or maybe it wasn’t, and the Dark One simply had other means.

“You’ve found someone who connects you to the world, Killian,” Belle said with kindness in her voice.  “You can choose a new path, and something new to live for.”

Kilian found himself wishing for more rum in his tea, swirling the beverage in its vessel as an excuse to avoid meeting her eyes now that his were the ones tear-streaked.  “What happens now?” he said at last.

“I’m going to free the fairies,” Belle said simply.  “And since you are, after all, surprisingly good at research --”

“I did have a classical education, lass,” he retorted.  “Greek, Latin, Celtic, a smattering of runes -- you’d be surprised what they teach you in the Royal Navy.”  Killian did not add that he had spent more than two hundred years utilizing that education, and those skills, in his search for vengeance against the Dark One.  It rather went without saying, at this point, when it came to the two of them.

“Meet me in the library tomorrow,” Belle said approvingly, “and we’ll get started.”

 

\--

 

Killian opened the door before she even knocked, as if he had been waiting for her.

Emma had taken the long way back from the sorcerer’s mansion, lost in her thoughts, her fingers alternating between touching her lips and tugging at the laces still tied to her wrist.  Her path had taken her past the old farmhouse and the now-empty trough and all she had been able to think while standing there was that she didn’t want Killian’s rings on a chain around her neck the same way she had Graham’s shoelaces around her wrist, another silent reminder of what could have been in tribute to someone she had lost.

On the way back from the farmhouse to the hospital to face her family and admit that she was -- that she wouldn’t be able to help them, Emma had spent so much energy ignoring Killian that her entire body was stiff with tension by the time they walked in and found Neal missing.  She could still remember vividly his seemingly lifeless form on the ground in front of her, the few seconds when she was convinced she’d lost him before she’d even had the chance to know him or what it was that tied them together; Graham all over again. It was weeks later and a lot had happened but the simple truth was that if things had gone differently tonight, it still would have been true.

And now he was standing in front of her, all dark hair and blue eyes and worried expression, in his vest ( _“waistcoat, Swan”_ ) and the blue shirt that matched his eyes perfectly.  Only his jacket was missing and she couldn’t help but feel she was on an uneven footing with him, his armor already shed and her jacket still clinging to her after coming in from the cold.  And wasn’t that a hell of a metaphor for their entire relationship?

“Hi,” Emma said, and shit, she was nervous, because she had missed him.  She’d seen him less than two hours ago (held his heart in her hands and _she hadn’t been wrong about him_ ) and she’d missed him.  “I wanted to -- I thought maybe -- we needed to --”  Emma took a deep breath. “We need to talk,” she said, and this time she smiled, waiting for his banter about _“pleasant conversation”_.

He thought about it, Emma could see the ghost of a smile flit across his face, but all he said was “Aye,” before he moved away from the doorframe to let her in.  Emma was surprised to see it was dim in the room, the available light coming largely from the fire and supplemented by oil lamps on the tables. Killian Jones was self-evidently adaptable to any and all situations, but it seemed that the habits of a lifetime - of several lifetimes - were difficult to overcome and besides, Emma reasoned, it wasn’t like the electric lighting at Granny’s B&B was anything other than a few bare, bright bulbs on the ceilings and dated table lamps on every surface.

She hadn’t been in his room before.  It wasn’t much different than hers had been during her brief stay:  aforementioned crappy table lamps; curse-ordained ugly-ass wallpaper; fireplace; coatrack; creaky bed. Killian apparently rated a loveseat and coffee table in addition to the standard bedroom set, so either Granny Lucas had a sweet spot for men in black leather or Captain Hook still had a cache of plunder somewhere to pay for the upgrade. The room was neat as a pin - ship-shape, she guessed he would say - with the bed made precisely, corners of the sheet tucked in and the comforter folded over itself at the base, and his old pointed-toe boots tucked under the frame.  There was a map of Storybrooke tacked to the wall by a small desk, two hardback books stacked precisely on the wooden surface, and his satchel was slung against the back of the chair. Emma pulled her jacket off and hung it on the rack alongside Killian’s old greatcoat, fingering the stitches in the mended sleeve as she spied his sword in the umbrella stand. She had seen him without the coat only twice before he had swapped it for the modern biker aesthetic: in Neverland, one quiet night by the fire as he offered her a coconut, and the night that Elsa made the ice wall.  

She had slept under it, curled up on her parents’ miniscule couch while Killian sat on the floor with his back to her because it was the only way he could sit and still hold her hand when she wouldn’t let him go.  Emma’s grip on the coat sleeve tightened. That was the first night in a long time - maybe her entire life - where she had let herself need someone just to be there for her.

He’d brushed off her questions about his comfort with a smile and “ _I’ve slept in far worse places for less worthy reasons, love, and far be it for me to deny a beautiful woman such a simple request.”_

She dropped the sleeve and turned back to Killian, crossing the room quickly before she grabbed his collar and pulled him close.  Because this was -- it was a thing that maybe started off poorly but now -- now Killian Jones was someone she needed. Just to be there for her.  So she kissed him, because it wasn’t like she hadn’t wanted this, since Zelena’s curse. (And New York, and Neverland, and his fucking scarf in her fucking office drawer.)  It’s just that now, maybe she was ready to let herself want it.

“Most men,” Killian murmured when she came up for air, “would find your silence off-putting, love.  But I love a chall--”

Emma loved his voice, his accent and the way words and innuendo rolled around on his tongue, and she would normally have been totally fine listening to him read the phone book, as if he even knew what that was, but she did not want him to be talking right now.  She kissed him again, and he kissed her back, his hand around the back of her head to cradle her as they pushed up against the nearest wall and she couldn’t think when he kissed her like that, like part of him was pouring out into her and she can’t work out where she ends and he begins; there would be no coming back from this, not when every kiss was a promise she never asked him to make, like the abandoned greatcoat and modern clothes that meant he was part of this world, now -- part of her world.  Something in her pushed outward, a flash of something, and Emma felt it all the way down to her toes.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, pulling back.  “Killian, I am sorry.”

He was dazed as he looked at her, his eyes dark and his jaw tight.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated again.  “I’m sorry I make it hard, when it should be easy.”

Something seemed to have snapped in him just as it had in her, because when he kissed her again it was raw and unchecked and so hot that it practically burned, like their first kiss all over again.

“Swan,” he said, and it was quiet - his real voice, not the honed steel of bravado and affectation that he wielded as expertly as he did a sword.  Words were weapons, for this man, meant to deflect and parry and keep a safe perimeter around him at all times, not that Emma knew anything about that.  His real voice, punctuated by a deep breath, and he was trying to ratchet everything back down, to rein himself in.

Killian Jones, she knew, did not love by halves.  But Emma’s secret - her secret was that she didn’t, either.  If she let herself want this, for real --

There would be no coming back from this.  

She reached between them, pulling at the belt of his jeans, hearing the _clink_ of the buckle as she got it undone.  His hand went to her waist, pulling up the hem of her sweater.

“What is it you want from me, Emma?” Killian asked, his hook pushing her hair over her shoulder.

Emma didn’t want to come back.

“You,” she said.  “Just you.” They could talk later.

His exhale was sharp; he nodded, reaching up to cup his hand against her face, and was he shaking?  “As you wish.”

 

\--

 

Emma came awake all at once, gasping for breath, the wisps of a nightmare fading away as her eyes opened to the darkness.  The oil lamps had been dimmed and the bed beside her was empty but not cooled off yet, the fire built back up and Killian kneeling in front of the flames.  He had put his jeans back on and a black robe was cinched around his waist. Emma had no idea what time it was, but the air felt heavy with that particular stillness unique to late-night quiet; a time for sharing secrets and confessions and maybe, finally, getting some of those things that needed to be said out into the open.  Emma reached onto the floor, coming up with her white tank top and boyshorts. By the time she had pulled them on Killian had shifted so his back was braced against the couch, his legs out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. He had brought out his flask but it was unopened.

The bed squeaked when she got out of it, of course it did, and Emma tried not to squeak in displeasure when the cool air of the room hit her legs, pulling her hair into a messy ponytail with the elastic she had on her wrist.  Killian gave no notice of her until she was right up behind him, one knee on the couch, one hand on each shoulder. He looked up with a kind of sad half-smile and “oh, hey, sailor,” she said, kneeling next to him to press a kiss on his cheek before settling cross-legged in front of the fire.  “I like the fire, it’s great for atmosphere, but you know Granny has central heating, right?”

Killian raised an eyebrow, the half-smile briefly transformed into something brighter before fading again, his eyes dark with something far away and loaded.  He untied the belt of his robe, extracted himself from it and moved to drape it across her shoulders. His rings and necklace rattled in the pocket and the fabric was warm from the fire and his body.

“Gold kept you from telling me, didn’t he?” Emma asked, settling the robe around herself.  It wasn’t properly a question - more like kind of a question with maybe a dash of accusation thrown in for good measure, but mostly it was certainty.  She and Killian had a long way to go before there were no secrets between them, but she thought that after Henry and Zelena and his lifeless body in front of the farmhouse he wouldn’t keep something like this from her unless there were potential life-altering or life-ending consequences.

Killian regarded her for a long minute before answering, shutting his eyes as he spoke.  “Aye, that he did.”

“Do I want to know how long--”

“I was on my way to you,” he said, his eyes still closed.  “Your family weren’t -- they didn’t understand the gravity of the situation when it came to the Dark One and his plans.  But I thought…” He laughed, a small and bitter sound. “It matters not what I thought. I fell prey to him outside the sorcerer’s mansion on the night he attempted to take your magic from you.”  Killian rubbed at his forearm with his brace, the name _Milah_ faint in the firelight.  “He lashed me to the fence so as to force me to watch the spell he wrought take the light from you, and when that failed, he lashed out at me.”

_Light_ , he said, and not magic, and Emma was angry all over again that she hadn’t reached out for the understanding he would willingly have offered.  “Killian--”

“I knew about the dagger, Emma.”

Emma stared at him in confusion for what felt like several minutes, waiting for the pieces to sort themselves out in her head.  She leaned her forehead against her hand, propping her elbow on one knee and staring at the floor as if it would explain everything to her.  “Your hand,” she said, because that was the only thing that made sense. “You tried to _blackmail_ Gold into giving you back your hand?  What could possibly possess you to--to--?” Emma was waving her hands in the air, because there weren’t enough words in the universe for how stupid that was, and how furious she was at him for being so stupid, for making her worry, for falling into a trap, for almost breaking his promise.

His eyes were haunted, an expression Emma had never seen on his face before as he worked the cork out of the flask and took a drink.  “Because of you, Emma,” he said, the words falling into the late-night stillness and Emma froze, because that was big and scary and crazy and also, definitely not the truth.  “I wanted the chance to embrace you with both hands.”

Which was sweet and heartbreaking and still one of the stupidest things she had ever heard, but Emma thought they were getting closer to the issue.  There was an undercurrent, something electric running through this conversation that she still wasn’t understanding.

“But he got the better of me,” Killian muttered into the fire, and there was bitterness dripping into every syllable.  “As ever, sent me running after the fairies and informing to him about Elsa and her lot.”

“Anna knew him,” Emma whispered.  “Before the curse, she knew him -- he lied to us.”

“Aye,” Killian agreed, looking at her again, wariness in his gaze, and there it was -- she knew that look from 16 years in the foster system and every mirror she’d ever seen in those years, and most of the mirrors she’d seen since; that desire to just once be enough, to convince someone she was worthy of their time and affection.

“What’s the real reason?”  

 

\--

 

Killian wasn’t sure, sometimes, if he hated how well she understood him or if he loved it, and took small comfort in the fact that she likely felt the same way about him.  He turned back to the fire and contemplated the flask in his hand, though he knew he was merely stalling for time. He had no regrets that she had let him love her tonight, but she deserved this confession, his lady Swan, his partner, his lover, his -- Saviour.  Even if that meant this night would be the only one they shared.

“Because of you, Swan,” he said again.  “Because I believed I was a better man. Because I wanted to have everything you were offering me.  Because I wanted to be the man you see in me.”

He chanced a glance in her direction, noting that she had straightened her posture and angled her head, her entire focus upon him.  The firelight drew out the contours of her face and the shine in her eyes; her hair was still mussed from sleep and sex - her body taut and tight under the vest she wore with no undergarment - she was the most beautiful sight he had seen in all of the realms.  Killian had seen so much of darkness that he cared not for how much it might hurt later, any bit of light was welcome.

“I’m not a hero, Swan.  I’m a pirate, and a fool -- just a man ridiculously good at surviving, whatever it takes.”

He did not want her to be wrong about him.  He did not want to _die_ and have her be wrong about him.

Tonight was not the first time death had come calling for Killian Jones.  Time games with Neverland aside, he and death had come face-to-face many times over the years.  Killian did not fancy himself immortal; he did not fear death. Until tonight. He had lied to the crocodile, though he might not _crumble at the precipice of his demise_ like a coward -- if he was going to die, he would rather it be as the man Swan wanted him to be.  The man she believed he could be. It had been over two hundred years since he had something - someone - to live for.

Belle had been correct, smart, kind-hearted lass that she was.  Perhaps he was on a hero’s journey after all.

And in spite of everything, the idea brought a smile to his face.

Emma was smiling, too.  “You see it now, don’t you,” she said softly.  “What I saw when I held your heart in my hands.”  She shifted her weight, bracing herself on her arms as she pulled herself on top of him, one leg on either side, his dressing gown still draped over her lap.  There was nothing graceful about it, and it was so characteristic of her that it felt natural to raise an eyebrow in appreciation.

“Killian,” Emma said seriously, “I am really, really pissed at you right now.”

“Aye, love,” he murmured.  “As you have every right to be.”

“I am also,” she continued, apparently ignoring him, “really, really pissed at me.  Killian -- I knew, I knew something was going on, I just didn’t --”

Her forehead was against his, and the contact sent warmth through his entire body.

“Killian,” she said again, her breath warm against his skin.  “We fucked up. You did, I did, we both did. I think that -- it’s probably a thing that is gonna happen.  But do you remember what you told me, back at the top of that beanstalk?”

He did, in fact, remember - the feel of her wrist in his hand, her body on top of his, had taunted and haunted him nearly every night since - but he was a selfish, lovesick idiot and he wanted to hear her say it.

“You said to me that we were a good team.  Killian, I know the things that you’ve done.  I know the kind of man you are. I don’t need you to be perfect, I just --”

She kissed him, and there was that pulse of warmth again, and suddenly it seemed irrelevant whatever she was attempting to say, because there was magic flowing between them.  It was faint, but it was there. Not True Love, for Killian knew better than to ever hope for such a thing, but love, and trust. And a healing balm against his soul.

“I need _you_ , Killian.  Just as you are.  The man you are is -- enough.”

He reached his hand to her hair, pulling it out of the messy queue until it formed a curtain between them and everything else.  He loved the smell of it, sweet and clean from her bathing oils, and her mouth was wet and warm and open; her legs slid against his until the black fabric of his dressing gown dislodged from her lap and onto the floor, the jewellery spilling onto the rug.

Emma pulled herself away at the sound, looking around for the source.

“It’s nothing, love,” Killian assured her, stroking her hair with his hand as his brace rested against her hip.  “But it’s quite late. Much as I would wish to keep you here forever, I should prefer not to antagonize your family by doing so.”

She laughed, throwing her head back.  “Captain Hook,” she drawled, “Are you afraid of my father?”

“Nothing of the sort,” he insisted.  “Merely avoiding the necessity of defending myself against his sword.”

“You say that like you’re so sure you’d win,” Emma taunted, her eyes glinting green in the dying fire.  “But I…”

Killian raised his eyebrows and bit his lip.

“Oh, you _asshole_ ,” she laughed again.  “You let me win, didn’t you?  At Lake Nostos?”

“My point, Swan,” he said, affecting a show of great patience, “was that Prince Charming does set the bar rather high and I should prefer not to fall short this early in our…”

“Relationship,” she said, serious again, and Killian sensed this was an important pronouncement.

“Aye, exactly so.”  They said nothing after that for several minutes, though Emma snuggled herself against him, her hand against his chest where he could feel his heart beating almost as if in response to her touch.  (Oh, he was a right lovesick idiot, no question.)

“I don’t want to leave you,” she said finally.

“Nor do I,” he said, “wish to see you go.  But perhaps we can start afresh in the morning.”

“Assuming another new crisis hasn’t rolled in by then,” she sighed, extricating herself from his embrace.  She picked his rings and necklace up off the floor, searching around for a moment until she stood and pulled her hair back into its queue with the hair tie Killian had dislodged.  “I promised Henry doughnuts for breakfast,” she said shyly. “Would you like to meet us?”

“It would be my honor and privilege, Swan, to join you and the lad for doughnuts.”  Killian took her offered hand and stood up next to her, pulling her close against him.  Emma kissed his nose and draped the chain back around his neck, slid each ring back onto his hand.  He flexed his fingers and contemplated the metal bands as she walked back toward the bed for her discarded trousers.  It was habit as much as anything to wear them -- but perhaps it was time to set them aside. They were the foolish trophies of the man he did not wish to be anymore.   _Enough_ , she had said.   _I know the kind of man you are_ , she had said.

_Find a new path_ , Belle had said.  Perhaps these rings would be his markers.  Perhaps his sins really could be forgiven.

“Emma,” Killian said, walking her toward the door.  “The way I feel about you, it isn’t difficult at all.  It’s quite simple, really.”

She kissed him gently once, twice, on each corner of his mouth.  "Goodnight, Killian," she said, and smiled.

"Sleep well, love."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title is a reference to joni mitchell, "a case of you":
> 
> Just before our love got lost you said  
> I am as constant as a northern star and I said,  
> Constantly in the darkness  
> Where's that at?  
> If you want me I'll be in the bar...
> 
> I met a woman  
> She had a mouth like yours, she knew your life  
> She knew your devils and your deeds and she said  
> "Go to him  
> stay with him if you can  
> But be prepared to bleed"


	2. Chapter 2

And, okay, it wasn’t like their -- relationship -- was suddenly perfect overnight.  

(Though that had been, well, pretty fucking perfect, as far as things went, Emma had thought to herself when she finally, at whatever ungodly pre-dawn hour it was, climbed into her undersized bed in the attic of her parents’ loft, careful not to wake Neal as she tiptoed toward the ladder upstairs.)  

(She really needed to get her own place.)

For starters, Emma could tell that the doughnuts were much too sweet for Killian’s taste.  It wasn’t the first time she had noticed his eating habits - or lack thereof - but on the other hand, it was the first time she’d _noticed_.

And Killian, for his part, noticed her hesitant side-eye.  “No worries, Swan,” he said softly. “Beats chimera.”

Emma snorted.

“Wait, what?” Henry broke in, mouth full of doughnut.  “Chimera? What’s that?”

“Native to the Enchanted Forest.  Part serpent, part goat, and part lion, lad,” Killian answered, and smiled.

“All gross,” Emma added, her nose crinkling at the memory.

“Aye, it does take a bit of getting used to,” Killian conceded.  “But that’s far from the least appetizing thing I’ve encountered on my travels.”

Henry’s eyes widened.  “Like what?” His mouth was full of doughnut again.

Killian looked at Emma, almost as if asking for permission.  His eyes were soft, his expression open. He had indulged in more than his usual smudge of kohl this morning, and Emma thought it was probably not for the effect but more to cover up how tired he was.  

(Because they had been busy.  Last night. And it had been fucking perfect.)

(And so what, really, if her _mother_ had caught her scrounging for coffee at a still-ungodly-seeming but otherwise normal morning hour before she left for Granny’s to meet her kid _and her boyfriend_ and suggested, ever-so-kindly, that maybe one of her higher-necked shirts was a better option for the day?  

“I’d rather not find your father on the wrong end of Hook’s sword later,” Mary Margaret had explained with a shrug, as if that was her only concern.  “No disrespect to David, of course, but I mean, looking back, it seems pretty obvious that he let you win at Lake Nostos, don’t you think?”

Then she had muttered, almost to herself, “Not that he wouldn’t _deserve_ whatever Hook did to him for that kind of overprotective nonsense.”

And then she suggested, while Emma was still recovering from that first one, that Killian join them for family dinner in a few days?)

(Like Emma was even ready to make plans that far in advance less than a day after the last crisis.)

(She really needed to get her own place.)

So Emma nodded her acquiescence to whatever it was he was asking, her kid’s eyes getting bigger and bigger as Killian spun tales for him over the breakfast table, and it hit her: how he’s fallen into their lives like he’s always been there. Sometimes it’s hard to remember he didn’t come over with the curses - either one - until he says something so obviously out-of-time that she is forcibly reminded that he missed the 21st-century-crash-course along with the 28-year-time-loop.  But in spite of everything they’d been through, after he’d taken her to Neverland and brought them back from New York, after he’d kept Henry for her during the second curse and happily taken him sailing, just the two of them - had tried, imperfectly and somewhat stupidly, to save her son’s life - Emma had never seen them together, not like this. She knew - had known - Killian liked Henry, but she now that she wasn’t obsessed with worrying about what her kid would think of Captain Hook--

His mom’s _boyfriend_.

Whose knees she kept accidentally-on-purpose bumping into under the table until her hand landed against his thigh, and stayed there.

It had been almost eighteen hours since the last crisis and that was bordering on a record, and this was...nice.  Normal, even - or it could be, depending on how long they made it until the next crisis - and how had she ever considered going back to New York instead of staying in Storybrooke?  

(Staying _home_.)

With her family, and her kid.

And her boyfriend.

(She was absolutely not afraid of the idea of this being her future.)

(...Right?)

Emma came back to herself just in time to stop Henry from inhaling a third doughnut, and looked up at the wall clock.  “Come on, Henry, two’s enough,” she said with a laugh, reaching over the table with a napkin, all mom-like, to wipe the flecks of chocolate from his upper lip.  

“Geez, Mom, I’ve got it,” Henry groaned, taking the cloth from her hands and smearing the frosting all over the place.  “But, you know, thanks for not spitting on it first.”

“What can I say, kid, I guess that makes me the cool mom.”  Though, truthfully, it hadn’t occurred to her. Was that a thing people did?  Was it a mom thing? Emma hadn’t even realized that her body had started to tense up until she felt the weight of Killian’s hook against her arm, soothing her.  She smiled and shook it off: whatever. Spitting was gross. She had to get to work, there were piles of paperwork that were probably left over from before the second curse at this point, and didn’t Henry have…

“Henry, you’re all set to go over to Regina’s and do your homework today, right, not play X-box?”

He groaned.   _Busted._  Maybe Emma was getting the hang of this mom thing, after all.

“Yeah,” he muttered, slightly under his breath.

“Shall we go, then?” Killian asked, standing up and reaching to pull her chair out.  Emma gave him another side-eye, but he just winked and muttered “gentleman, love,” into her ear before turning and heading for the counter.

“Come on, kid, coat on,” Emma said, turning back to Henry and pulling her beanie over her ears.  Her own coat came next and by the time she had settled it around herself and pulled her hair out from under the collar, Killian had re-appeared with a to-go cup in his hand, which he proceeded to offer to her.

“What’s this?”  Emma stared at it for a moment, at his outstretched hand, like he was brandishing a weapon.

“Coffee, love.  Sweet enough to crack your teeth and more cream than Granny’s actual brew.”  Exactly the way she liked it. Of course.

“What for?”

“I’m wooing you,” he said.  “Of course.”

Emma couldn’t help her silly little smile, or the stupid rush of happiness that went through her, because it was working.  Consider her wooed, or whatever. Hooked?

Killian smirked.

(She was happy.)

(It was _terrifying_.)

“Cool, Hook, thanks for breakfast,” Henry said as he buttoned his peacoat and wrapped his scarf the way he liked it.  “I want to hear more about the Enchanted Forest next time, is that ok?”

“It would be my pleasure, lad,” Killian answered.  

And Emma couldn’t just, like, start kissing him in the middle of the diner _in front of her kid_ like she wanted to, but it was sweet when he kissed her softly on the cheek before he held the door open for her and Henry to walk out.

“Hey,” Henry said suddenly, a sly smile on his face, “while we’re wooing, maybe an extra hot chocolate for me next time?”

Killian reached out to run his hand through Henry’s hair.  “I shall endeavor to remember that, lad. Want to make a good impression, aye?”

“Killian,” Henry was serious now.  “I’m sorry about what I said before.  I’m glad you’re okay. And I’m even glad that you and my mom are--”

“Ah, together was the word, was it not?”  To anyone else, Killian’s voice probably sounded full of his usual confidence, but Emma heard the understone.  Open book went both ways; they both had their scars and their histories and the past few weeks had been one hell of a test run for something that felt like it could be _it_ , so it wasn’t nearly as hard as it might have been to meet Killian’s hopeful smile and say, simply, “Together.  Yeah.”

Maybe it wasn’t perfect, but it felt like a pretty damn good start.

Maybe she would invite him to family dinner.

Maybe she’d see if they got through the day, first.

 

\--

 

**_hey no jinx or anything but how about dinner later  
_** **_oh crap did i ever teach you how to text  
_** **_can you make belle do it  
_** **_please  
_ ** ******_um call me i guess_**

 

Belle laughed.  It wasn’t a completely normal sound, as far as laughter went, or at least as best Killian was able to tell from the time he had spent with her.  But the smile, at least, was genuine, and more than he had seen from her since he’d walked in earlier.

“Good morning, Killian,” she had said, the expression tentative and brief, before pointing him toward a pile of books already making the library’s table sag in the middle, and he was relieved.  Because Killian Jones may have seen giant squid and magic beans and time travel but he had no appetite for the magic boxes.

A man could only take so much, and so he had settled down to work with pen and paper.  Until the noise had started.

_Beep._

_Beep._

“Belle, lass, if you would kindly silence your magic boxes-”

“The internet, Killian.  It’s called the internet.  And it’s your phone making the noise.”

_Beep._

_Beep._

“Aye, hello, Emma?”

Which was when Belle started laughing.  “She’s texting you, Killian.”

Killian groaned.  “More of the endless joys of the talking phone.”  He was only slightly exaggerating his continued discomfort with the technology, but he sighed dramatically and raised his eyebrows and got another smile out of her.

“Phone.”

_Beep._

“However it’s called, then.”

She added a ‘Belle’ button to the device while he brewed them a pot of tea, bringing his total to six (though Killian was prepared to lay sizable odds that both he and Regina were hoping circumstances never drove them to that expedient), and talked him through texting while they drank it.

 

**_yes to dinner later  
_** **_but a man appreciates some romance, swan_ **

 

“I’m plenty romantic,” Emma scoffed, stealing a French fry off of his plate for emphasis and stabbing it into the pool of ketchup on her plate with more force than was strictly necessary.

“Darling, of course you are--”

“It’s just, well, there hasn’t exactly been much time for romance, has there?”  Emma sighed, her shoulders slumped. “Curses, yes. And swordfights. Time portals, evil witches, ice walls and, you know,” she looked at him, her eyes narrowed.  “You. Almost dying. After you promised me you wouldn’t.”

That last one was hissed, and Killian smiled with his best, most superior rakish air.  “I’m still here, am I not?” His hand reached for hers over the table, threading their fingers together.  His voice turned quiet, soothing. “And you’re missing the best bit, love.”

Her eyebrows raised in unspoken question and her lips turned upward when he leaned closer to her and whispered, “The sex, of course.”

“Of course,” she said softly, squeezing her fingers around his just for a moment.  “Killian?”

“Hmm?”

“A word of advice:  If you ever want to experience ‘the sex’ again, maybe don’t make fun of your girlfriend’s romantic tendencies.”

Killian couldn’t help himself; he laughed, long and loud and hard, his entire body shaking with mirth.  Emma’s grin widened and it made him laugh even harder, definitely for the first time since his heart had been ripped from his body and possibly for the first time since before Emma had taken off into the forest, away from him and her boy and her family and they had spent _two days_ looking for her with laughter very thin on the ground.  He gave himself over to the simple pleasure, watching the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled at him like that and thought, perhaps, that there had never been a moment more romantic in his entire life.  “Duly noted, Swan.”


	3. Chapter 3

Days.  It had been actual days since the last crisis and Emma was beside herself:  Giddy, and restless, and maybe for the first time understanding what a regular day as sheriff might actually be like and exactly how much paperwork was still left over from the second curse.  Lunch was with Regina, combing over the storybook while the mayor complained about getting everything back into its right place now that Mary Margaret had returned to the elementary school. Dinner with Killian or Henry or Killian _and_ Henry and sometimes she would pick up Neal from Ashley’s and take him for a walk, or trail behind as Henry took Pongo for a run.  Archie would give her a nod and a smile when they dropped the dog back at home; a kind of silent check-in, and Emma couldn’t be offended when the man had, like, literally been created to help the fairytale folk get through all of their shit and she, Emma Swan, had decidedly been through some shit -- post-traumatic savior disorder or something.  

She especially couldn’t be offended because she was happy.

Still…

They were playing darts at The Rabbit Hole when she asked him, because she wasn’t proud that it had been taking up space in the back of her mind, and it took a few drinks’ worth before it was enough she felt comfortable saying it.

“Do you really think I’m not romantic?”

Killian deliberately let his last dart fly and watched it hit the bullseye before he turned to face her.  His jaw twitched. “What is it you’re asking me, Swan?”

And she hated it, hated how petty and nervous she sounded.  “The other day, when we were texting, you said--”

“Emma.”  His hand went under her chin, his fingers moving across her throat in a caress before tilting her head so that their eyes met and, seriously, why were his eyes so _fucking_ blue?  “The instant you came into my life, I knew it had changed.  You reminded me of who I had wanted to be, and how I had wanted to live.”

Oh.  Wow. That was...a lot.

“And, what, that flash of insight came from being tied to a tree?  Or chained to a beanstalk?” She grimaced and looked away. “Sorry.  Sardonic humor, it’s kind of how I relate to the world.”

“I hadn’t noticed, love,” Killian answered, a sly grin softening the angles of his face as he traced a thumb against her bottom lip.  “But since you mention it, ten hours does give a man plenty of time to think about how it was he ended up chained to a beanstalk. No, Swan, I meant it when I said that you reminded me how to be a part of something - to have that something turn out to be more than I ever could have hoped to achieve, that seems fairly romantic.”

Words.  It was just words.

(He was so good with words.)

Killian looked at her, tilting his head and eyeing her critically.  Open book. “Really, Swan. What is it you’re asking me?”

Emma bit her lip.  What was she asking, him, really?  If she was doing this right? If she knew how to be someone’s girlfriend?  How he had waited so long for her to be ready, to catch up, never asking for more than she was ready to give - and was it worth it, after all of that?

“I think you’re difficult,” he said seriously.  “Demanding. Impulsive, and brilliant, and terrifying.  Steadfastly loyal, determined, stunningly beautiful, and loving.”  He stopped her when she tried to pull away. “What I’m saying, Emma, is that I need you.  Just as you are. Knowing you was already enough and being with you is more than I ever could have hoped for.”

Emma huffed out a laugh that was very nearly a sob.

“You need not worry, love.  I’m yours,” he said simply, and the words ran through her, an actual physical thing she could feel echoing in her body.  

“That was pretty freaking romantic,” she said, standing on her toes and pulling at the collar of his jacket and tasting her tears on his tongue.  She felt his fingers in her hair and knew just before he did it that he would pull away, because Leroy and Sneezy and Happy were at the bar and, seriously, Happy would be insufferable if he saw the savior and the pirate disappearing into the restroom of The Rabbit Hole because they couldn’t keep their hands to themselves.

Even if she desperately wanted to pull him into the restroom of The Rabbit Hole and disappear for a while.

“You’ve said that to me before, you know,” she said, laughing a little, still slightly on edge.

“I don’t understand.”  And she could tell from his expression that he didn’t, his eyebrows raised and his eyes still searching to make sure his words had gotten through to her.

“Yeah, so, I kind of have a confession to make.”

Killian smiled.  “I find that most women do, love,” he said, waiting for her to continue.

Emma couldn’t help it; she laughed again, still a little hysterical, but somehow calmed by the familiar line that he probably didn’t even know was familiar to her.  (Just, wow, their history was complicated.) “While I was in New York, during the curse,” Emma explained. “I dreamt about you. I didn’t understand it at the time, but it was, like, this intense, insane thing and--”

“It frightened you.”  Killian made it a statement and not a question.  Emma shook her head; not ‘no’, because it had honestly scared the shit out of her and was possibly (definitely) a contributing factor in her temporary obsession with leaving Storybrooke altogether, but as a way of dismissing it as unimportant and in the past.  

“You used to say that to me, in the dream,” Emma said slowly.  “‘You need not worry, love, I’ll come back to you. I’m yours.’”

He kissed the top of her head, pulling her hand into his and threading their fingers together.  It instantly sent a jolt of warmth through her. “And did I tell you a lie, Swan?”

No.  Not since the day she’d met him and chained him to a beanstalk.

She should probably figure out how to tell him that she loved him.  

“Come to dinner with my parents,” she said instead.

“Dinner,” Killian said, as if he had never heard of such a thing in his entire life.  “With Snow and Charming.”

“Family dinner,” Emma clarified.  “I would like you to come with me to family dinner.”

“The thing is, Swan,” Killian said, “I’m not entirely certain I foresee that ending well for me.”

“It’s not an execution, Killian. But, now that you mention it--”

“Piracy is traditionally a hanging offense, aye.”  He smirked.

“My mom suggested it, actually,” Emma said, then added, “the dinner, I mean, not the hanging.  I think she likes you.”

“Ah,” Killian said, but his eyes brightened and he pulled their hands, still entangled, to his lips and kissed her knuckles.  “Well, if Snow White requests it, how am I to refuse?”

“Hey,” Emma punched him playfully in the shoulder with the hand that was not wrapped up in his.  “What about me?”

“For you, my darling,” Killian said, “anything.”

_Truth._

 

\--

 

Killian lay back against the frame of the bed, his head propped on a pillow, pulling Emma along on top of him.  They’re still learning how they fit together, but the sight of Emma Swan hovering above him, her hair forming a barrier between them and the rest of the world -- even in his dreams he never allowed himself such liberties.

“Every night, Swan,” he whispered into the darkness.

“What?” she asked, a hand against his chest as she pulled her hair over one shoulder.

“That’s how often I would dream of you,” Killian confessed.  “Every night that I spent in--” _my world_ , is what he almost said, but it hadn’t felt like that the way it once had done, “ --the Enchanted Forest, until I saw you in New York.  Not a single night went by, I didn’t dream of you.”

Her arms went around him, pulling his head up to meet hers.  “Good,” she said simply. Her hand went back to his chest, splayed across his ribcage as though she wanted to feel his heartbeat beneath her fingertips; Killian’s entire body pulsed with the warmth that somehow flowed from that simple touch.  When she kissed him, it was wild and devastating, making him strain as she went deeper and demanded more, destroying him completely, the warmth invading him and melting his thoughts as she laid claim to him with her caress.

“Emma,” he breathed against her skin, kissing the side of her neck.  For another moment, they remained tangled up in each other before Emma shifted to curl against his right side, pulling the coverlet with her.  His fingers went straight back into her hair and his left wrist rested atop his abdomen. “I see we’re stealing the bedclothes again, love.”

“It’s cold in here.”

“I built up the fire when we got in from the tavern, Swan.”

“Still cold, Killian.”  And she curled her foot around his calf as if to prove the point.

“Difficult,” he muttered, pushing her head onto his shoulder so he could kiss the top of it.

“You love it,” she said sleepily, her hand now tracing a pattern across his chest.

He did.

By all the gods above and below, he did.

 

\--

 

Her hair was a mess, some kind of snarled, knotted thing that she’d barely got into a topknot by the time she’s trudging up the stairs to the loft.  It was something like six in the morning; Emma was thirty years old, and she was doing the walk of shame to her parents’ apartment, hoping the dwarves didn’t see her as off to work they went.

The door was unlocked, which was a bad sign, but when Emma peered around into the kitchen it was her mother standing there.   _I’m sorry_ was on the tip of her tongue, but she was a grown-ass woman and she sure as shit wasn’t sorry, so “Hey, mom,” was what came out.  “Is there any coffee?”

Mary Margaret’s eyebrows hit the fringe of her hair.  “Good morning to you, too.”

Emma sat on one of the stools at the kitchen island, crossed her arms on the counter, and rested her head against the surface.  “Coffee, please?”

“Is this going to be a thing?” Mary Margaret asked, pouring her a cup.  “Like, you sneaking home and hoping you keep missing your father on his way out?”

Emma muttered something unintelligible, wishing she could mainline the coffee, or at least that her mother had put enough cream in it.  The way that Killian did.

“You can spend the night there, you know.”

Emma almost spat her coffee out.  She could do what, now?

Because she couldn’t -- she didn’t, that wasn’t a thing that Emma Swan did.  She and Neal had never had a place to stay that was his or hers or theirs and staying with Walsh had been out of the question with Henry to consider and anyone else, well, that had just been an itch to get scratched if she even let it get that far in the first place, and definitely didn’t involve anyone’s place of residence.

She groaned.  “Mom--”

“It’s fine, Emma.  It’s--”

“Seriously, Mom, I can’t with the happy-ending nonsense this early in the morning.”

“You’re happy, though, right?”

“Mom.” Emma sighed.  “I invited him to family dinner, okay?”   Mary Margaret’s eyebrows were up in her fringe again, her mouth open; she was, apparently, beyond words at this proclamation.   “Great,” Emma said. She lifted her mug in a toast as she headed for the bathroom and the shower.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> emma dreaming in new york was inspired by a great fic i found from andromeda3116 called "so open up your morning light". it was never finished, and it's definitely AU (i mean, squint at it the right way and you can make it canon) but i wanted to play with the idea that emma's been having vaguely prophetic dreams for a while before season 6 and she just didn't realize that's what it was because they were never that clear or immediate or terrifying before.


	4. Chapter 4

“You can’t tell Henry we’re doing this,” Emma said seriously, calling down to him from the upper chamber.

“I can honestly say that I have no idea what we’re doing, Swan,” Killian answered from his seat on the couch, turning away from Neal toward the sound of her voice.  The little prince was sleeping soundly, as Snow had promised. “So your boy will get no secrets out of me.”

Emma came down the ladder with a thin, rectangular box of metal in her hands.  “I brought this back from New York with me,” she said, as if she were confessing some great secret.  “You’d think we’d have gotten an upgrade with the second curse, but, nope, I’m pretty sure this is the only laptop in Storybrooke.”

“How fortuitous,” Killian commented drily, still having no idea what she was going on about.

“Ridiculous is what it is,” she corrected him, “since it means this is the only way we can watch a DVD, and Henry really wanted to have a movie night, but we’re stuck on babysitting duty thanks to _someone_ not being able to say no to my mother.”  

The last was a trifle accusatory, and Killian’s hand went to the back of his neck as if by instinct, but she was correct.  It had been done before Killian had even understood what it was he was agreeing to, something about _David and I could really use a date night_ and _I’d love for you to feel more comfortable at the loft, Killian_ and _the baby has been sleeping very well lately_ and the fact that Snow White had apparently decided that Captain Hook was a worthy temporary steward for the young prince.  Still and all, Killian took it as a sign in his favor that the family dinner had ended in an invitation rather than an execution, even if Charming had glared threateningly at him when he’d agreed.

“Besides,” Emma admitted softly, settling herself against his side like she belonged there, “ _The Princess Bride_ is my all-time favorite movie.”  She opened the laptop, which was apparently another kind of magic box, and pulled his hand up and over her body until his arm was around her shoulders.

She did belong there.

Killian made it approximately three minutes into the movie before he realized that Emma was watching him.  Her body was just slightly tense, like she was waiting for something, and then the man in the talking box said something that pulled Killian’s attention back to him.  He shifted his weight, bringing his right hand back so he could touch her wrist and the flower tattoo -- the buttercup -- buried underneath the brown strings she wore.

“I always assumed,” Killian said softly, “that it was your father’s crest represented here.  But it’s not, is it, Swan?”

Emma looked surprised, as though she had been expecting him to say something else.  “I just wanted something to remind myself that I was special,” she said, pulling her wrist away.

“You are special, Emma,” Killian whispered.  “Perhaps you would allow me to show you?”

Emma smiled.  “As you wish.”

And by approximately five minutes into the movie, neither he nor Emma were paying it any mind at all.

 

\--

 

Two hundred years shipboard made a man a very light sleeper; Killian came awake at once to the sound of someone in the kitchen.  It had not been his intention to fall asleep in the upstairs chamber of the Charmings’ apartment, nor more specifically to fall asleep in their daughter’s bed, but Emma had suffered a nightmare and needs must and all of that.  She’d gripped his hook - his _hook_ , and wasn’t that a wonder? - and he’d stroked her hair and she had fallen back to sleep directly and so, apparently, had he.  Killian glanced around the room for a clock of some sort and, finding nothing but remembering when he had come upstairs, he calculated it was somewhere in the middle watch.

 _Bloody buggering hell_.  

Jacket replaced and boots back on, he came carefully down the ladder to face the palpable ire of David Nolan.

“You know what your problem is, Hook?”

“Not in the least,” Killian answered levelly.  “But I’m delighted to hear that I only have one.”

Something that was either a laugh or a snarl escaped the prince.  “It’s 2:30 in the morning,” he said. “Why are you still in my house at 2:30 in the morning?”

“I believe it was at the suggestion of your wife, Dave,” Killian said.

“You could have said no, Hook.”  

“Aye, Emma said much the same,” Killian smiled.  “And Her Royal Highness? Does she share your concern?”

“My wife,” Charming said, “just wants whatever makes our daughter happy.”

“But you do not, I take it?”

“It’s every father’s dream to see his daughter run off with a centuries-old pirate,” the prince snapped.

“And there,” Killian drawled, “is that famous ‘Charming’ attitude.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Whatever you want, Dave.”

“Don’t call me that, either.”

Killian sighed.  “So how would you prefer that I address you, mate?”

“That works,” David said.

“Then you might take a moment to notice, mate,” KIllian said, nearly biting off the last syllable, “that Emma is not ‘running off’ anywhere.  You might even say that it was my actions that brought her back to you - on multiple occasions, in fact - and it is because of me that she remembers you in the first place.”

The prince’s eyes narrowed.  “How did you manage that, anyway?” he asked.  “You never did say.”

And it was no one’s business, really, except his and Swan’s - and Killian hadn’t even planned on telling her, though he had been surprised it had taken her so long to enquire, and of course she hadn’t told her parents.  It was -- it was personal, it was theirs, that confession and that moment and all that followed after. But things were different now - family dinners and whatnot - so he said, softly, “Has it escaped your attention, mate, that I have been boarded at the Widow Lucas’ inn for the duration of my stay here?”

“I really had no cause to care about your _sleeping arrangements_ until tonight,” said David, “but I had assumed that your ship hadn’t come over with the last curse.”

“Aye, it didn’t.”  It still pained him to think of it, sometimes; not only losing the _Jolly Roger_ but what he had done to win her back in the first place.  The little mermaid had deserved better from him, Killian knew, but it had been easier to give in to the darkness than to accept everything else had had lost.  He flexed his fingers, slowly, and took a deep breath, fingering the metal of one of his rings. “When I received word of the oncoming curse, I made plans to escape it, and to travel here by means of a magic bean.”

“A magic bean -- you had a --?”  In that moment, it was apparent that the prince was as quick-witted as his daughter when circumstances called for it.  “You traded the ship.” Charming gripped the countertop. “The end of the world for her, you said.”

“And time,” Killian supplied helpfully, scratching at the back of his ear.

“That long?” Charming asked.  Killian felt his jaw tighten, but he nodded.  “And Emma...or do you still not know?”

Killian _knew_ , if the rush of feeling that went through him whenever they made contact was anything to go by, but that was decidedly for himself and for Emma alone; she had said nothing to him but he had lost track of how quickly or how often he felt himself reaching for her, or she for him, since the night in the clocktower.  It’s a constant reminder that, no matter his fears of his heart, its damage and its darkness, that his Swan believed in him, and that he can be better.

It’s a work in progress, but then again, so are they.

Assuredly, Killian felt no desire to expound upon any of that to Prince Charming at 0230, and he shook his head.  “Not that I don’t enjoy a good palaver, Sheriff, but perhaps you would care to continue this interrogation at the station?  Or may I return to my quarters?”

David blushed.  “Go home, Hook,” he said, but the sting of his earlier tone was absent.  “And...we’re having dinner again in a few days.  You should come.”

Killian half-turned back toward the prince, away from the door.  "Aye?"

Emma's father nodded.  "Yeah."  He snorted.  "The things I put up with for the sake of familial harmony."

"I'm winning you over," Killian said, opening the door.  "I knew it."


	5. Chapter 5

He was gone when she woke up.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise - her bed in the loft was barely big enough for one, let alone two, and they had agreed sometime after Emma nearly fell off the couch that it would be better if he stayed downstairs for the duration of the evening.  She hadn’t even _wanted_ him to stay, really, and was convinced that neither of them was prepared for the onslaught of emotions that would befall them if David and Mary Margaret walked in and saw them together on the couch -- especially if they kept doing what they had been doing during the movie.

(Fine, okay, Killian probably would have had no issue discussing it - he was always ready to discuss anything, even the things with teeth, the things that hurt - but Emma, not so much, and she was definitely not ready for the aforementioned onslaught.)

She probably should have encouraged Killian to just head back to Granny’s after the movie they hadn’t bothered watching - because she hadn’t wanted him to stay over - just, it had still been sort of early, and he hadn’t seemed eager to leave, so they (she) ended up making some cocoa and a bullshit compromise that it would be just as well for someone to be awake and downstairs when her parents got home and that person ended up being....Killian?  While Emma went upstairs to bed?

(And had a crazy dream about Lily - or at least she thought it was Lily, she couldn’t see a face - all grown up and pissed as hell, which, honestly, Emma could relate.)

And now, she was awake and Killian was gone.  Emma was sure that Killian had heard her after the dream, had come upstairs and just sat with her, quiet and supportive and _there_ , and it bothered her that she was so bothered by his absence.  She got out of bed, got dressed - tank top, sweater, jeans, badge, jacket, boots - and found her mother alone in the kitchen, a mug of cocoa in front of her.

Emma was starting to wonder if it wasn’t completely by accident that she hadn’t run into her father in the morning for almost an entire week.

(A week.  It had been an _entire week_ since the last crisis.)

“Hi, Mom,” Emma said, and her mother pushed the mug across the island at her.  Emma made a face. “No coffee today?”

“I didn’t think you’d need it,” her mother said, the picture of innocence and serenity.  Emma sensed a trap. “It seemed like you were sleeping well when we got home last night.”

_Shit._

Except, no, she was a grown-up, in an actual, committed relationship - she had a boyfriend and everything - not a child sneaking around under her parents’ roof.  

(Only, she kind of was, wasn’t she?  She really needed to get her own place.)

“How did you--”

“Killian left his satchel by the front door.”  Mary Margaret inclined her head in that direction.

“Oh.  Um, did Dad, uh, say anything?”

“Not to me.”

 _Shit._  Emma resisted the urge to lean down against the counter and knock her head against it, but she rested her elbows on the island and put her head in her hands.  She felt Mary Margaret rubbing against her arm, trying to soothe.

(A mom thing, and it was nice.  And maybe this was part of why she’d never actually started looking for her own place.)

“Sweetheart, I promise I’m fine with having Killian here whenever the two of you want to be.”

“Ughhhhh,” Emma made a noise into her hands.  “I notice you left Dad out of that.”

“I think he and Killian discussed it last night, yes,” Mary Margaret conceded.

“Seriously?”  Emma lifted her head to glare at her mother.  “You know this is the twenty-first century, right, and not the Enchanted Forest?  Like, even Hook isn’t that old-fashioned.”

Her mother made a noise that might have been agreement.

 

\--

 

She met Henry for breakfast.  Her sweet, smart kid who had been spending every night with Regina for the _entire week_ since the last crisis, and since Robin had left.  He eyed her knowingly and said, “Where’s Hook?”

Emma had been sort of hoping they’d run into Killian at breakfast, to be honest, but for him to magically know that without her texting him.  Only she knew how early he typically woke up and she also knew it was much later than he usually preferred to “break his fast.”

Besides, spending the night was not a thing they did, she had just been over this, stick with the program, Emma.

(But -- was Killian a cuddler?  Big spoon? Little spoon? He was always so tender, after, but Emma didn’t _know_ , since she always left.)

(And that thing he did with her hair, because Killian loved to touch; sometimes she thought the casual intimacy between them would actually be the end of her.  Just, like, his hand at the base of her spine and he always offered her his arm and also, sometimes, she just needed to remind herself that his heart was still there, and still beating.)

“Mom?  Is everything okay with you and Hook?”

(Touching him always made her feel warm to the point where she wasn’t sure any more which of them reached for the other more often.)

“Sure, kid,” Emma said.

 

\--

 

She hadn’t phoned.

The phone had, in fact, been quite silent, no talking of any kind, and none of the little messages that Emma was so fond of.

No word at all.

The silence was in keeping with every other thing that had happened, or failed to, on this day, and had put Killian in rather a fit of temper.  There was a hint of something in one of the books he had been working through in the morning, but the language was so archaic that even Killian could not puzzle it out and the sorcerer must have been quite ancient, indeed.  A hint, that possibly led to another hint, to a book even less decipherable than the first one.

And Killian’s notebook was in his satchel.  Which he had left at the Charmings’ home the night before.

So it wasn’t that he was sniping at Belle, but he had been tempted to and keeping quiet was difficult. They had taken to talking, some days, and she had asked him if he regretted the loss of his revenge.

“Regret,” he’d said softly, “is not precisely the word I would use.  I’m a patient man, lass, but in nearly three hundred years I never managed to get the better of him the way that you did.”  He paused, swallowed, and continued. “And I hadn’t come so close to losing everything as I did that night since the day he took my Milah from me.”  Killian looked at her. “I’m grateful, Belle. No one had more right to their justice than you.”

“I couldn’t see the good in him anymore,” she’d whispered.  “And I saw your heart, Killian. It wasn’t rotten.” Belle had wiped her eyes and excused herself, bringing their tea back after a somewhat prolonged interval.  

It would be, among other habits he was trying to avoid slipping back into, excessive bad form to snipe at a woman who had saved his life and banished the love of hers.  Silence was decidedly the better part of valor; it wasn’t her fault that he was particularly feeling the weight of his sins and his failures today, nor was it her fault that Emma hadn’t phoned.  

It was in this state of somewhat tense frustration that Henry found them when he turned up unannounced in the middle of the afternoon.  “Hello?” he called, his voice echoing from near the front desk.

Killian sighed, adding his current book to the pile Belle had designated for potential leads.  “Ahoy, lad,” he answered. “Come aft, we’re in the back.”

“Hi, Hook,” Henry said, slinging his backpack onto the table.  “Hi, Gr--Aunt Belle.”

Belle gave a sad smile.  “Just Belle, Henry.”

“Right,” Henry said, his voice high and a touch awkward.  “Um, is it okay if I stay here and, like, do some research?”

“Of course,” Belle said.  “Anything I can help you with?”

“No, I mean,” Henry stammered, “Just -- if it’s okay, I’d like to hang out here for a bit.  It’s not the same at Granny’s since Ruby left, you know, and everyone else is still at work?”

“Does your mum know you’re here?” Killian asked.  “Either one?”

Henry nodded.  “Yeah,” he said.

“Sit down, Henry,” Belle said.  “You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like.  How about I go and make us some tea?” She stood and walked toward the room where they kept the kettle and tea things.

Killian was a bit surprised when Henry pulled up the chair directly next to him  “Um,” the lad said, “so you weren’t at breakfast this morning?”

Killian’s eyebrows went up almost of their own accord.  “Apologies, lad,” he said sincerely. “I was not aware of the appointment.”

“Yeah, I know,” Henry muttered under his breath.  “It’s just I know you were babysitting Neal last night with my mom, and…”

Killian’s eyebrows were still raised, but he gave the boy a look meant to encourage - a look he had plenty of practise deploying against his mother - and waited for him to continue.

“Mom seemed upset this morning,” Henry finished in a rush.  “And I just wanted to make sure everything was okay? Or did you have a fight, or something, and is that why you didn’t meet us?”

“Are you asking me,” Killian said, certain his eyebrows couldn’t go any higher, “what my intentions are toward your mother, lad?”

“Maybe?” Henry said.

“Two Charmings in less than twenty-four hours,” Killian chuckled, his hand pulling at his ear.

“Oh,” Henry said, and he was grinning now.   “Did my grandpa say something? Is that why you left?”

“Your grandfather,” Killian said carefully, “just wanted to remind me that Emma has people who care about her.”

“But you love her, too.”

Killian smiled, strangely tickled that the boy had made it a statement instead of a question.  “Aye.”

“Good.” And he pulled out his storybook from his backpack and dropped it on the table just as Belle swept back into the room with the tea tray.

“Are you working on something in particular, Henry?” Belle asked, peering over his shoulder.

“Top secret, Aunt Belle.  You understand.”

Killian winked at Belle.  “Aye, that we do, lad. We shan’t breathe a word.”

 

\--

 

Storybrooke was a small town with a single police cruiser, so it was very suspicious when Emma couldn’t find her father.  She stewed a bit, sitting at her desk, taking whatever calls rolled in, and went to lunch, ignoring Regina as she wondered how many days it would take to for the grease smell to dissipate even as she stole an onion ring.

“You know that Henry took his book to school with him today,” Regina reminded her after half an hour of strained silence.  “We can pick this back up, with less malodorous side effects, on another day.”

Emma took the hint, and when she noticed a flash of concern in the queen’s eyes, she ignored that too.

Back to the station, where the remains of a sandwich on a paper plate littered one of the desks and making it official:  David was avoiding her. Emma grabbed her walkie out of its charger and pushed the button, sending a burst of feedback through the device.  “Dad,” she said, “come back. Now.”

“Em?” Her father’s voice came over the speaker.  “Everything okay?”

“Everything is fine,” she said.  “But it’s time for you to come back to the station.  Now.”

There was a pause, and then, “Yeah, okay,” David said, and Emma thought she heard him sigh.

She waited for him, pacing back and forth a little bit, sitting on the desk, fingering the old coat of Graham’s she couldn’t bear to pull off of its peg, and was standing square in front of one of the cells when he walked in.  Emma watched him take off his jacket and sling it over his chair, watched him adjust his shoulder holster, and gave an extra minute for him to look up so their eyes met. “So,” Emma said. “Did you and Hook have a pleasant chat last night?”

David exhaled.  “Emma, there was a--”

Emma raised her eyebrows in challenge.

“A pirate,” he said, “sleeping in my house.  In your bed. I think I am allowed to have an opinion on that.”

“No,” Emma said.  “I don’t think you are.  Because, in case you haven’t noticed, I have a twelve-year-old son, so even if I agreed that it was any business of yours, my virtue or whatever is not something you need to worry about.  And,” Emma continued ruthlessly, “the man who did  _ that _ was a thief and a liar who left me to do his prison sentence, so a pirate might be a step or two up.  What did you say to him?”

“Neal did  _ what _ ?” Her father’s eyes flashed with anger.  Emma almost would have sworn she saw his wrist twitch, looking for his sword, which was exactly the kind of ridiculous patriarchal bullshit she was pissed about in the first place.

(It wasn’t, though.)

Emma rolled her eyes and shook her head - Neal had been a coward and a con man but he had done something brave when it counted most of all, and she had loved him so much it had broken her - she needed that to be the past, and she needed her father to understand that.

“Dad,” she said, and stopped, because she was  _ not _ going to cry.  She had woken up alone and her father was being kind of a dick about it and that was  _ it _ ; this was not about how hard Killian was working, had been working, to be supportive, to be there, to be someone he believed was worthy of the same things Emma had spent most of her adult life trying to convince herself she didn’t need or want to deserve -- because she was so broken -- but now had.  He’s --  _ they’re _ \-- doing their best and Emma would just like someone to understand that.

It was absolutely not about how part of Emma was still convinced that she didn’t need or want or deserve any of those things, that she was still too broken to understand how to be there for someone the way that Killian always seemed to be there for her.

(It was, though.)

(And what if that was why she had woken up alone?)

“Dad,” Emma said again.  “I just need you to be okay with this.  With all of it.”

“With the pirate.”

“With Hook, Dad, yes.”

“Em,” David sighed.  “You left him chained at the top of a beanstalk.”

“I had my reasons for that,” Emma protested.

“He locked you in Rumplestiltskin’s cell.”

“Yeah, well, he had his reasons for that.”

( _ The time for that is done _ , he had said, all low and cool and calm,  _ just as I am done with you. _ )

(Even the insult had dripped with innuendo, but Emma understood the look in his eyes so much better now.  It was disappointment, hurt, sadness; a tiny heartbreak from yet another person who didn’t believe he was worth anything.)

( _ I spent many years in Neverland, _ he had said,  _ home of the Lost Ones.  They all share the same look in their eyes:  the look you get when you've been left alone. _ )

(Emma was not projecting.  Not in the least.)

“He tried to kill you,” David was saying, as if that made it final.

“I mean,” Emma hesitated, “not really?”  It was her father’s turn to roll his eyes.

“He took us to Neverland.  He saved your life. We wouldn’t have broken the second curse if he hadn’t brought me back here.  You know all of this,” she said. “Why are we doing it again?”

Her father stayed silent, watching her intently.

“I know you expect everyone to be as good as you and Mom are, just, like, leaders and heroes and princes and princesses, and that is great and amazing, okay?  But some of us fuck up along the way and need the people in our lives to forgive us.”

David looked stricken, the blood suddenly draining from his face.  “Em,” he said, “I don’t expect that from anybody.” He took a deep breath and said, “I know you care about each other, Emma. The night that you were trapped in the ice wall, I am not sure anyone was more anxious than Hook.”

“You let him spend the night then,” Emma pointed out, and what happened to “staying the night wasn’t something they did”?

“Yeah,” her father admitted, a small smile on his face.  “I guess I did.” David stepped forward, walking toward her, and Emma found herself engulfed in his arms, his hand cradling the back of her head.

“I need you to be okay with this, Dad,” Emma repeated. 

David’s hand moved to her cheek.  “You need him,” he said simply. 

And she did; she needed him to make her smile, and comfort her, and hold her hand, and she needed to be safe for him like he was for her.  They were both Lost Ones, just two people who had needed someone to remind them that they could be a part of something.

(She would tell him.  One of these days she would find the words and say them out loud.   _ I love you _ , she’d say, when eight letters and three syllables seemed less terrifying than a dragon or a demon-child or a wicked witch.)

(But mostly, she thought he already knew.)

“He grows on you,” Emma said, smiling, “I promise.”

“So does fungus,” her father retorted, but he was smiling, too.

 

\--

 

**_where’s my kid?_ **

 

A noise erupted from the phone, signaling the arrival of a message, and Killian twisted to pull it out of his pocket.  

 

 **_worry not, swan_ ** **_  
_ ** **_he is here, exactly as he ought to be_ **

_where is here?_

 

He read the words and felt a small smile upon his lips.   _ Ah, lad _ , he thought, glancing toward the library door where Henry had just excused himself to go outside and wait for his mum.  Killian messaged back  _ library _ before following the lad out into the street.

Henry had picked up a fallen branch and was using it to parry at the air.  “Tighten your wrist, lad,” Killian advised as he walked out to him.

Henry froze and turned.  “I’m busted, aren’t I?”

“If by which you mean that your mum is actually on her way, Henry, then I am afraid so.”  Killian gestured at the stick. “Care to have another go whilst we await her arrival?”

The boy’s eyes brightened.  “Really? You don’t mind?”

“I think,” Killian said, “that you’ll find I’m quite adept at swordplay, lad; though I didn’t learn until I was much older than you are, I’ve had rather a lot of time to practise.”

Henry looked at him, something like disbelief on his face.  “Seriously?” the boy asked. “Was that supposed to be a joke?”

“If you like,” Killian said, “though it is the truth.”

“How old are you, anyway?” He asked, curiosity in his tone.

“Henry!”

They both turned at the sound of the voice.

“Swan,” Killian said with a nod in her direction.

“Mom!” Henry dropped his stick and walked to her.

“Hey, kid,” she said, draping an arm around his shoulders.  “Maybe lay off the tough questions, huh?”

“It’s fine, Swan, the lad is an inquisitive sort, and I don’t mind.”  He gave her a smile. “It’s only bad form to enquire after a lady’s age, not a gentleman’s.”

“Right, you’re a gentleman now,” she smirked.

“Always, love.”  Henry groaned, and Killian turned back to him.  “I’m afraid I don’t have an exact reckoning, Henry, as time didn’t flow properly in Neverland, but something approximating three centuries.”

“Three hundred?”

“Aye, more or less,” Killian admitted, feeling strangely exposed at the wonderment in the lad’s eyes.

“Okay, kid, Killian answered your question,” Emma said.  “Why don’t you walk over to Granny’s and get some dinner with your grandfather?”

“Yeah, okay,” Henry agreed, giving a look between the two of them.  He pulled his pack over his shoulder and waved at Killian. “See you later, Hook!”

“Enjoy your dinner, lad,” Killian said.  “My best regards to your grandfather.”

Henry blinked.  “That was definitely a joke, right?”

Killian just winked, turning back to face Emma, a grin still on his face.

She hit him in the shoulder.  “Seriously?”

“Ow, Swan, you wound me.”

Her eyes glittered with mischief.  “Would you like me to kiss it and make it better?”

“Swan, love,” Killian said, leaning toward her ear so he could whisper, “if your magic can do that, I have other places in greater need of healing.”

“You really are ridiculous, you know,” she said, laughing.

“What happened,” he said with affected dignity, “to dashing rapscallion?”

“Hmmm,” Emma said, pulling him toward her and kissing him.

When he caught his breath, Emma was looking at him, her face full of unsaid things.  Killian took her hand and waited, watching her gather herself.

“I’m sorry my dad was awful last night,” she said finally.

“You have no need to apologize,” he said.  “He was concerned. He cares about you a great deal.”

“He had no reason to be concerned,” Emma said in a bit of a huff.

“He has every reason to be concerned, Emma; I’m not proud of the man I’ve been, and I like to think I’ve changed, but not every man will just open his door to an old villain like me.”

“You’re not a villain,” she insisted.

“I’m trying not to be,” Killian said earnestly.  “But not even two years ago, I--”

She kissed him again, briefly, chastely, on the corner of his mouth.  Killian rested his forehead against hers and took a deep breath.

“I’ve spent,” he said, “the better part of the last three centuries in decidedly non-heroic pursuits.  I would like very much to be worthy of this, and I honestly believe your father wants that as well.” Killian ran his thumb across her cheek.  “He is merely working out exactly how zealously he need guard your heart, love.”

“That’s not his job,” Emma said simply.

“Perhaps not,” Killian acknowledged, dropping his hand to his side and rubbing his thumb against the metal on his forefinger.  It had already been a nervous tic and now he found himself doing it to reassure himself that he was on the right path, making better choices--and with her light to guide him, and perhaps even that of her family, he was hopeful about his chances at redemption for the first time in a very long time.

“I’m sorry I was mad at you this morning,” Emma said suddenly.

“I don’t take your meaning, Swan.”

“You were gone,” was all she said.  “And I know we don’t--I know that’s not--”

“Darling,” Killian interrupted.  “Should you ever wish me to stay, you need only to ask.”

She nodded.   “I know,” she said.

“And if your heart ever needs protecting, it would be my honour to return the favour you bestowed upon me.”

 

\--

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Henry came to the library again.

And then again.

Killian supposed it was becoming ‘a thing,’ as Emma would say.

Unfortunately, that ‘thing’ seemed to include Henry’s disinclination to inform anyone of his whereabouts; Killian was forced to face Her Formerly-Evil Royal Highness by day three of their new apparent arrangement.

“Have you no mercy, lad” was what Killian had muttered to him as the queen pulled up in her majestic green vessel during an impromptu sword lesson.  Henry gave a sheepish grin and shrugged before Killian drove the point home by disarming him quickly and turning toward Regina.

“Sorry, Hook,” Henry said.  “She doesn’t look too mad, though, right?”

She did not, in fact, look angry.  Her face was soft, almost, an expression vaguely wistful on her face as she approached.  “Henry, it’s dinner time. If you can bear to tear yourself away from Captain Guyliner over there, we can eat over at Granny’s.”

“Maybe some ice cream, too?”

Regina gave a sigh, but it was obvious she did not mean it.  “We’ll see. Did you finish your homework?”

“Aye, he did,” Killian assured her.  “We saw to that, Belle and I.”

Regina graced him with her full attention and gave him a once-over, taking him in from head to toe.  Killian positively refused to flinch under her gaze. The woman directing that icy stare at him could not be more different than the Evil Queen he had once encountered.  This was a different sort of judgement and Killian found himself, for the first time in their long acquaintance, wanting to pass muster. Mostly he hoped she would not bar the boy from visiting the library - he was quite enjoying their time together, and Henry made Belle smile.

“Hook helped me with the algebra,” Henry said with a grin.  “Mom, can he take me sailing again?”

The royal eyebrows went up and suddenly Killian was swimming in a pool of tepid water as the ice melted.  “It’s fine with me if it’s fine with Hook. Did you ask him?”

“I would be delighted,” Killian said honestly.  “At your leisure, lad.”

“Awesome!”

“Something to look forward to,” Regina said, watching Killian as she said it.  “Henry, get your bag and let’s get going.” The boy obeyed, turning to go back into the library.  

Killian exhaled a long breath.   _When all of this is over,_ he’d told her once, _I’ll have nothing to look forward to.  My life will be empty._

The queen said nothing, apparently examining her nails, which were a dark burgundy colour.

 _I have Henry,_ she’d said.

“Regina--”

“Quiet, Hook, there’s no need for you to worry.  I know you’re not the kind of man who would let anything happen to my son.”  Another look in his direction. It was a look full of shared history, of _knowledge_ , and Killian’s blood ran ice cold.

“Aye,” he agreed, when he had once more caught his breath.  “I would die before any harm befell the lad.”

“I know,” Regina said simply.  

“You’d really let him continue to stay here, of an afternoon?”

Regina shrugged.  “He likes you,” she said, as if that was all that mattered.  

“And you and I,” Killian gestured between the two of them.  “Are we to be friends, then?”

“Perhaps,” Regina conceded, and smirked.  “Let’s just hope that works better for us than ‘allies’ did.”

 

\--

 

As with so many things in Killian’s life, it was on the water that everything became clear - when he realised exactly what it was he had stumbled into.

Henry had taken to the sea so easily it was nigh-on impossible to dismiss those few happy weeks had had once spent with Bae in exactly the same pursuits.  “Once you get your bearings,” he found himself saying just as though he had said it only yesterday, “it’s as easy as pie.” Port and starboard and the sea in his blood; _I can change, Bae_ , he’d once promised a boy who refused to believe him.  Only now did Killian realize that Baelfire had heard that particular promise too many times for it to be worth anything at all, while Henry had known nothing but belief in the power of change.  He had seen his mother come into his life, his grandparents and his father, had seen Regina turn from Evil Queen to Saviour with the power of True Love’s Kiss and once, just outside of Storybrooke Harbour, Henry reminded Killian what it meant to have the Heart of the Truest Believer.

“Killian,” Henry said his name.  

It never bothered him that most of the populace of Storybrooke still preferred ‘Hook.’  Killian had gotten rather fond of the idea that his proper name was reserved mostly for his Swan, not unlike the way his names for her were his alone - though sometimes it felt like these long-forsaken casual intimacies would finally be the end of him.

“Aye?”

“Is Tink of one of the fairies in the sorcerer’s hat?  Is that why--”

Killian felt the muscle in his jaw twitch before he answered.  “No, Henry. Tink left Storybrooke right after your uncle was born--though I don’t believe she planned to be away this long, she’s a very capable woman and I’m sure she’s quite well.”

“Oh,” Henry said.  “Well, that’s good then.”

“It is,” Killian agreed.  “But if you’re asking me about your Mother Superior and her lot, you should know I’m doing everything I can to help Belle undo what I did to them.”

“I know it wasn’t your fault,” Henry said seriously.  “Belle explained to me about what my grandfather did. And Emma.”  And that’s when the boy looked him straight in the eye and put a hand on his arm.  Killian very nearly flinched in surprise.  “I know you’re not a villain anymore, Killian. You’ve changed, just like Regina did.”

He said it with such conviction, as if just believing it made it true.

“Both hands on the wheel and turn it just a bit to the port side, lad,” Killian said when he could speak again.

“Got it.”

“I promised your father once,” Killian said, “that I could change.”

Bae had thrown it back in his face, and Killian had taken it as a sign that his life was not meant for more than the darkness he had willingly sought out in the pursuit of his revenge - for his brother, for his lost love, and now for the boy who thought he couldn’t be anything else.  The darkness had been a constant companion all of these long years and yet it had driven him to cross realms, and to cross time, and to meet Emma. To meet Emma and to love her and to find a place in this new world without the darkness that had been weighing him down--to live, where before he had been merely surviving.

And as for Neal, well, Killian would never be sure but a part of him knew - _believed_ \- that it had been Bae who had somehow gotten him the message and the potion and entrusted his family to the protection of Captain Hook.  

Because he had changed.  Killian placed a hand on Henry’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

It was Henry’s turn to be silent, then:  “Will you tell me more about him? Because after the curse--sometimes I feel like I don’t know who he was anymore.”  Henry’s eyes were trained on the wheel. “And when you told me about him, before, it helped.”

Killian’s hand on the boy’s shoulder tightened.  “Aye, lad, anything you want to know. I told your mum once that it might help me as much as it helped you.”  He and Bae had made their peace, aye, but it had barely scratched the surface of all that lay between them; between himself and Henry, though, there was nothing but potential and the hope of, perhaps, doing it properly this time.  

So it became a habit, setting sail whenever the weather was fair enough to allow it.  Henry would chatter cheerfully and incessantly while Killian answered every question the lad could think of about the Enchanted Forest.  Killian could ride a horse and wield a sword and navigate according to the heavens and the boy was happy to hear about all of it, so Killian told him.  And then one day, out on the ocean, as Killian brought their vessel into irons so that the lad might practise hoisting the main sheet and tying it off, Henry asked the question Killian had never been prepared for.  

“Jeez, Hook,” Henry said.  “I mean, I loved living in New York but is it just...completely awesome to see all of these things and travel so much?”

 _I’ve not seen the ocean much beyond our small port,_ she’d said.   _Is it wonderful to travel so much?_

“Aye,” Killian said, because _oh_.

 

\--

 

Killian persuaded Belle to add hot chocolate and cinnamon to their list of available provisions, and he was convinced the smile she gave him in return was the brightest one she’d managed in weeks.

“He’s a special boy, isn’t he?” she said, or maybe it was a sigh.

“He thinks we should have a ‘murder board,’” Killian said.  “I have no idea what that means, but Henry says it is what they do in the talking box.”

“The _television_ , Killian,” Belle replies automatically, and at this point Killian was only ever pretending to not know the words for these things, just for the reaction.

“There is much of his father in him, and less of--” Killian said, and immediately wished that he hadn’t, cutting himself off.  Belle’s eyes had gone a bit dark, a far-away look in them.

“I still love him,” she said quietly.  “Even after everything he’s done -- what kind of person does that make me?”

Awkwardly, Killian reached  across the table to clasp her wrist in his hand, echoing the comfort Henry had given him.  He was a man unaccustomed to physical contact of an affectionate sort; Emma had been the first exception in far too many long years, with the need to touch her and feel her ingrained so deeply within him already that sometimes it felt like an ache.  But Belle --

In spite of everything between them, she had proven herself his friend.  He could count on one hand the number of people who fit that description and, truly, no one deserved this heartache less than Belle, or deserved her love less than the crocodile.  “I think,” Killian said, “that makes you human, lass. And if there is one thing I have learned in this town, it is that all sins may be forgiven when somebody loves you.”

“I hope that you’re right,” she said.  “But he’s not coming back and it’s time for me to, I don’t know, move on.”  She looked at him. “I’m sure I sound ridiculous.”

“You don’t,” he said quickly.  “It’s just that I fear you are speaking to the wrong person when it comes to the concept of ‘moving on.’”

Their eyes met and held and she broke the heaviness of the moment by, of all things, laughing.  A real laugh, and a real smile, and Killian felt himself smiling in response.

“You know,” she said, “I think you might be right.”

“When it comes to drinking, however,” Killian offered, “I am a veritable expert.  As it happens, if you fancy something stronger than tea tonight, Emma and I are meant to meet up at The Rabbit Hole.  You are more than welcome to join us and share in my expertise.”

“Yeah, okay,” Belle said.  “I’d like that.”

 

\--

 

Emma got the call about an hour after she had kissed her kid and her boyfriend goodbye, reminding them both to “wear life jackets” as the door to the station closed behind them.  “Sheriff?” It sounded like one of the dwarves -- Bashful, maybe? “I think you should know that Captain Hook and Henry just stole a boat and took it out into Storybrooke Harbor.”

“Are you freaking kidding me?!”

“Honestly, Sheriff, Happy and I saw them do it.  We, uh, just thought you should know?”

“Are you asking me?”

“We’re really more like bodyguards, Sheriff, law enforcement is your job.”  And the dwarf in question -- Grumpy? That attitude was pure Leroy -- hung up.

Two weeks since the last crisis had blown up and now she had to worry about her kid committing grand theft boat -- felonies, Emma decided, should _not_ run in the family, and, seriously, how had she not realized it before?  The _Jolly Roger_ was still gone, after all, and Killian was still a pirate.  Emma grabbed her phone, shaking her head, and dialed.

“‘Ello, love,” Killian said.  “Is everything well?”

“Did you seriously steal a freaking boat from Storybrooke Harbor to take _my kid_ joyriding?”

“We did absolutely nothing of the sort,” Killian said, sounding disgusted.  

“Then why did a dwarf just call me and--”

“Commandeered, Swan,” he interrupted.  “We commandeered a ship. Nautical terms, love -- I promised Henry he could take the helm today and we required a vessel.”

“Is that my mom?” Emma heard Henry faintly in the background.  “Is she pissed about the stealing?”

“I would call it more of a misunderstanding, lad.”  Henry’s giggle also carried over the phone.

“Killian,” Emma said, pre-empting any debate with Henry over ‘nautical terms’, “is this gonna turn into a thing?”

“I have no idea to what you might be referring, Swan,” he said, and Emma sighed.

“It is, isn’t it -- every time you two go out, I’m gonna have to call down to the harbormaster and explain why you and my kid are committing felonies.”  

“Pirate, love,” Killian said.  “Don’t pretend you find it anything less than charming.”

 

\--

 

It totally became a thing, but Henry had never been happier.

(Neither had Emma.)

 


	7. Chapter 7

Killian’s head was a pleasant weight in her lap as Emma leaned back on her elbows and saw stars--she hadn’t slept out since Neverland, only Neverland hadn’t been quite so fucking freezing as Storybrooke was this time of year.  Something about the curse and erratic weather patterns of the Enchanted Forest; Emma had been sorry she asked the one time Regina attempted to explain it. Her main takeaway was that you really could handwave away anything in this town by the simple expedient of magic having been involved.  Much better not to worry about it, because ‘magic’ was a really stupid answer, maybe even especially when it was true.

Killian, of course, didn’t even have a coat on.  His eyes were closed since Emma had elected herself to keep an eye on Henry, who was hovering closer to the water with a sextant and notebook and the copy of H. A. Rey’s _The Stars_ he had shown up to dinner with, much to his and Killian’s mutual delight.

“Killian,” she said, voice hardly above a whisper.

“Mmmmm,” he said, and his eyes stayed closed.  Emma took it in, the sight of him completely relaxed, and thought it might be the first time she had actually seen him like this.  She brushed a stray piece of hair out of his face while the noise he made most closely resembled a purr.

It was a happy sound, a sound of pure contentment.

Emma was pretty damn close to purring herself--anything to stay warm, at this point.

“Aren’t you cold?”

“Mmmmm?”  The sound definitely had an interrogatory note at the end this time.

“It’s fucking freezing out here,” she said, still whispering.

“Through your phrasing is eloquent as always,” he said, one eye opening and a smile at the edges of his lips.  “I can honestly say I hadn’t noticed.”

“Impervious to the elements, then, Captain?”

“For almost three hundred years, or at least until I get used to the what-do-you-call-it, central heating, that you seem so fond of at Granny’s, aye.  Between that and the hot-water shower-baths, I find myself quite glad to be marooned here behind an invisible magic wall.”

“Nice,” Emma snorted, starting to pull her hand out of his hair.  His hand was on her wrist before she could do more than twitch.

“And the company, darling, of course.”  The warmth in his voice was sinful and almost made up for the actual temperatures.  His eye closed again and he shifted his weight, pulling her hand onto his abdomen and keeping it there, their fingers interlaced.  “It’s lovely out here, Swan. A perfect quiet moment.”

(Neverland had been hot and sticky and anything but quiet, the cries of the Lost Ones drifting through the night and making it almost impossible to sleep--and she wondered, had Killian heard them too?)

(She wanted to ask and also she didn’t, because mostly, she doesn’t even have to any more, he usually just tells her before she’s found the words.)

(But it’s been four weeks-- _four weeks_ \--and sooner or later there are going to be the tough questions, about what he’s done and what she’s done and there’s just too much history there to expect all of the answers to be good ones.)

(It’s better to stay away from the tough questions.)

Emma nodded, though he couldn’t see her, and noticed a couple walking over by Henry.  “I think we’re not the only ones out enjoying the quiet, either,” she said, and Killian’s head turned toward the water.

“Aye,” he said, though it was not as enthusiastic as Emma would have guessed.  “Belle and the knave have struck up a bit of a dalliance of late.” His fingers around hers tightened.

“Not a fan, huh?”

“I wish only for Belle to be happy, of course,” Killian said with some force, “but I fear that Scarlet and I will never be mates.”

(And now there was _definitely_ something below the surface that made Emma want to ask, but there was going to be a time when he wouldn’t answer and when that happened, it would go right back to all of that history and all of those secrets and she wasn’t ready yet to find out what, exactly, she would do when that happened.)

(So tonight, in the here and now, Emma wanted to let it go.)

“Killian,” she said, and saw his jaw tighten by the tell-tale twitch in his cheek.  “In Neverland, could you hear the Lost Ones crying?”

His eyes, both of them, had opened before she finished speaking, surprise making them do that thing where they were just really, really blue--Emma was sure of that even in the near-darkness.  He started to sit up but she didn’t let him, not wanting to disturb the moment even more than she already had, so Killian tilted his head in her lap almost exactly the same way he would if he were upright, and raised an eyebrow.

“Aye,” he said softly.  “Another thing that rum was an excellent solution for, Swan, but what possessed you to ask?”

“Just,” she said, gesturing with her free hand and trying not to fall backward, “thinking, I guess.  I haven’t slept out under the stars since Neverland. It’s kind of amazing how much has changed since then."

(Killian, for instance, had become someone Emma needed.  Just to be there for her.)

(And she loved him.)

(If only it were that simple.)

(Emma found herself wishing, not for the first time, that Elsa was still around, just to tell her how stupid she was being--though Elsa would say it nicer than that, and use a lot more words--but then again, Elsa understood fear on a level her True Love-trademarked family never could.)

“Aye,” he said again, his voice even softer.  “I hope that it has.” Then, so low that Emma was sure she wasn’t meant to hear it, “I hope that I have.”

 

\--

 

She wouldn’t let him pull away from herself and her boy as they walked toward the Charmings’ dwelling and Killian thought it was, possibly, the first time it was Swan keeping him close instead of the other way ‘round.  He tightened his grip around her waist as Emma glued herself to his side, grasping his elbow and leaning her head against his shoulder as though she couldn’t bear for him to be any farther away than he absolutely needed to be in order to maintain forward motion.

A lovely night full of quiet moments, indeed, though he wished he had only imagined the twinge in his left wrist at the mention of Will Scarlet.  It was another reminder of everything he’d stood to lose because of the darkness he’d allowed the crocodile to pull him into, willingly and with open eyes, so sure that he was better than he had once been.

It was a reminder of everything he still stood to lose.

The now-familiar door marked ‘3’ was unlocked and Henry pushed it open, revealing the Charmings and Regina seated at the dining table.  “Mom!” Henry cried, barely stopping to kick his shoes off as he moved across the room.

Emma, though, grasped onto his outstretched arm for balance as she pulled her boots off, and it felt like coming home, walking into her parents’ apartment.

“Do you guys want any cocoa?” Snow held up a cup and Killian’s eyes went immediately to Charming, enjoying watching him visibly stiffen and then equally visibly force himself to relax; he couldn’t stop a smile forming.

“I do!” Henry said, dropping his pack on the floor and settling himself against Regina’s outstretched arm.  “It was super cold outside, but the stars were amazing. Can we go stargazing more often, Mom?”

“I’m glad you liked it, kid,” Emma smiled.

“I found this for Hook, too,” Henry chattered on, bending to pull _The Stars_ from his bag and displaying it on the table.  “Since he lives here now he can, like, learn the stars of _this_ land.”

Regina rubbed the boy’s arm while Snow’s mouth fell open and her eyes positively shone with something Killian could not identify; even Charming looked surprised.  Killian felt the tips of his ears heat up and resisted the urge to scratch at the back of his neck, focusing his gaze upon Emma instead, allowing her small smile to ground him.

She truly was the most beautiful thing he had seen in all the realms.  He stepped forward and rested his hand against her shoulder.

“That’s really thoughtful, Henry,” Snow said after a long silence.

Charming cleared his throat and Regina exhaled, slowly.  “Henry,” she said, “did you want to come back with me tonight, or stay here?”

Henry’s eyes darted between Killian’s and Emma’s so quickly Killian almost missed the movement.  It seemed a moot point, as the boy had spent almost every night with Regina since the day Robin had crossed the town line.  Emma, he knew, was proud of her son for knowing where he was needed most, and Killian enjoyed the many opportunities it had afforded them not only for evenings out together alone but for evenings such as this one, just the three of them.

Killian had even learned to look forward to family dinner nights.

He lived here now, after all.

Henry actually _winked_ at him and said, “I’ll go with you, Mom, and come back to meet everyone here for breakfast.”

Regina sighed, her hand in her son’s hair, and Killian froze.

 _I have Henry_ , she’d said, but mere weeks ago she had had Henry and her family and Robin Hood.

 _Villains don’t get happy endings_ , she’d said.

A reminder of everything he stood to lose.

 

\--

 

“Please, stay,” she’d said when he tried to leave--the first time she’d asked, and she didn’t even use her boy’s obvious machinations as an excuse, though the lad had clearly been hoping for exactly this result.  Snow had made a bit of a scene over leaving the room, re-emerging after they had broken apart with an extra pair of sleeping trousers.

Killian urged Emma up the ladder while he stayed in the downstairs privvy, changing into Prince Charming’s sleeping clothes and wondering for the countless time this year--this night--if this was, truly, his life:  a welcome guest of royalty whilst he paid court to (and made love to) their daughter, under their very roof.

A man who, like many others before him--including, Killian thought, Prince Charming--was just trying to be a better man for himself and for the woman he loved.

A man in search of a happy ending.

Killian slid open the door back into the living quarters and found Her Royal Highness Snow White waiting for him, a bottle next to her on the table in front of his abandoned cocoa.  “Try this,” she said cheerfully, “to finish it off.”

A taste for Scotch was, apparently, one of many things that ran in this family.

He looked around, because a seafaring man was never unaware of his surroundings and not because he had any apprehension about what Emma’s father might do to him, but Snow simply smiled and said, “David’s over there,” she gestured, “getting Neal back to sleep.”

“Right then,” Killian said, and downed his spiked beverage in one go.

“Hook,” Snow began, “you know I’m perfectly happy to have you stay here whenever you and Emma like.  It’s not always easy, but I do try to remember that Emma is an adult.”

“That’s very kind of you, milady,” he said, meaning it.

“So you can understand,” she said, “why I might be confused by the fact that you seemed less than enthusiastic about Henry’s operation tonight?”

Killian exhaled a small laugh out of his nostrils.  “The lad lacks subtlety, aye.”

“So if that’s not it, what is it?”

“It’s not--” Killian said, then began again.  “I am never sorry to be in the company of Emma, milady.  I assure you, it’s nothing more than a temporary malaise.”

They sat in companionable silence while Snow sipped at her cocoa.

“We’ve forgiven her,” Snow said finally.  “Just like we’ve forgiven you.”

“Aye,” Killian muttered, fiddling with one of his rings.  “And speaking only for meself, milady, I am grateful every day for the opportunity to forge a new path.  But villains, well, maybe we don’t get happy endings.”

“Don't forget, Killian.  I've seen your heart.  I know you’re not a villain,” Snow insisted.  “I believe in you, just like I believed in Regina.  If you stay the course, keep making better choices, you'll find your happiness.”

“You sound like Henry,” Killian said.

“Henry,” Snow said, “is a very special boy, and he knows something that it is long past time you learned.”

“What’s that?”  Killian asked, almost not wanting to know.

“Believing in even the possibility of a happy ending,” Snow said, “is a very powerful thing.”

It was quiet again for a moment before she said, “You make her happy, Killian,” as though it were the only thing that mattered.

“Did you just give me a ‘hope’ speech, milady?” Killian asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

“It’s what we do in this family, Killian,” she said.  “You’d better get used to it.”

 

\--

 

Emma very nearly pushed him into the bed when he made it to the top of the ladder, and he gladly pulled her down to him until their lips met.

“How’s this for romance, Swan?” he asked, kissing her again.

“Squished into the smallest bed in existence?”  

“It is, at that,” Killian admitted, still not pulling away from her as he spoke.

“In the loft of my parents’ apartment?”

“No, love,” Killian said seriously.  “You asked me to stay. That makes this our first night together.”

She pressed her palms against his chest, moving with him until he was on his back and she was perched on top of him.

“Pretty freaking romantic,” she said, and, as always, he could feel his heart beating underneath her touch.  Emma kissed him once more before settling herself against his side and exhaling a long breath.

Killian ran his hand through her hair, breathing in the scent of vanilla, and kissed the top of her head.

“Sleep well,” he said, “my love,” and decided there could be no more happy ending for him than this.  "I'll be here when you wake."

 

\--

 

Emma woke up with her arm wrapped tightly around him as he lay on his stomach, her cheek resting against his shoulder.  It wasn’t quite daybreak, yet--if it had been, Killian would already be awake and likely bustling downstairs, trying to help--but there was light enough to see by, and Emma took a moment to think again about how much had changed.

Was this--could this really be--her life?  God, she just--she felt _good_ , and the little Lost Girl in her wasn’t sure what to do about that, and the Savior was still waiting for the other shoe to drop--but she felt rested, and content, and whole for the first time in her entire life.

(Here and now, Emma, she kept telling herself, because there was also the part of her that was terrified, because nothing good in her life had ever lasted, and if she lost this, too, it just might break her all over again.  She’d dreamt of a dark cloud last night, and it felt like an omen.)

(It was much easier to stay in the here and now.)

Emma kissed his shoulder, and let the warmth of it shudder through her:  she loved him.

(She knew that now, but sort of wished she didn’t, because what did it _mean_ and what about _True Love_ because there was just no freaking way and that was possibly just as terrifying as everything else combined?)

(Here and now, Emma.)

“Good morning, love,” came a rumble, partially muffled by pillow.

“How long have you--”

“I could feel you staring,” he said, turning his head to face her and now they were face-to-face, inches apart.  “See anything you like?”

“Surely you mean, do I see someone who might go downstairs and get me coffee?” she said hopefully.

“All I have is ever yours, Swan,” he said, pretending to pout, “and you require only coffee?”

“My mom doesn’t make it the same way you do,” she muttered, feeling her cheeks heat up and trying not to get distracted by his eyes and all of their blueness.  He kissed her lightly on her nose and started to pull himself out of bed, reaching for his shirt. The leather straps of his brace wrapped around his body, but even if he hadn’t left it on, Emma knew he would never go downstairs less than fully clothed--something about good form and _en_ _dishabille_ that sounded like something out of the Jane Austen novels she’d never finished reading in any of the high schools she’d bothered to attend.  She took a moment to admire him in the brightening daylight as he pulled his shirt on, watching the flex of his muscles and the way it caused his tattoos to ripple.

“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before,” he said with a smile.  Open book. “But it would be my preference that your parents don’t see it, I’m sure you understand.”

She tossed a pillow at him.  

(God, she could get used to this.)

(If she could let herself.)

Killian’s phone chirped.  “Belle thinks she’s found something in one of the books I left for her,” Killian said.  “We have to find a translator, she says.”

“It’s progress, Killian.  I know you’ll get there.”

Emma rolled over, intending to close her eyes again, but Killian leaned down and kissed her so soundly that all rational thought was gone for a moment as she thought she saw stars.

“I didn’t want to waste the opportunity of having you on your back, love,” he leered.

“Coffee, Killian,” she said, or tried to, because she still hadn’t quite caught her breath, “and then I am all yours, I promise.”  

His kiss this time was much softer, just a brush of his lips against hers.  “As you wish.”

 

\--

 

Henry showed up to breakfast and pulled out a newspaper, spreading it out on the table as he turned the pages.

“Whatcha looking at, kid?” Emma asked, dropping a cinnamon stick into his mug of cocoa.

He looked at her in that earnest way of his, and said, “I’m not sure you’re ready yet.”

Emma laughed.  “Classified Operation Mongoose stuff?”

“Something like that,” Henry said, looking between her and Hook.

 

\--

 

Killian started bringing her coffee every morning, whether they spent the night together or not.

 _Six weeks_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> description of killian _en dishabille_ inspired by this tumblr on art by svenja  
>  http://svenjaliv.tumblr.com/post/181147026071/off-with-his-shirt-another-part-of-tryst-going


End file.
